Unchained Love
by Slightly Sinister Sinestra
Summary: Post HBP, true stories of Severus Snape, Poppy Pomfrey and Alastor Moody. Warning: contains Dumbledore bashing in later chapters.
1. Prolouge Healer

Prolouge - The Healer

by Slightly Sinister Sinestra

Disclaimer: If I owned HP, Snape would get more recognition, but I don't!

Summary: Post HBP, true stories of Severus Snape, Poppy Pomfrey and Alastor Moody.

Rating: M for assorted nastiness

Severus came to slowly, far more slowly than usual. He could feel softness around him, a bed. Light shone through his eyelids, and the room was warm. That could only mean one thing, as his master did not permit him to sleep in a bed. He was in the hospital wing. Usually this meant that Lucius had hurt him so badly that he had been forced to bring him here if he wanted to get any more use out of him. However, although he most definitely hurt, it wasn't nearly as bad as it should be if Lucius had brought him here.

Panic surged through him. Had something happened that led to some good samaritan bringing him here? If so, then he was a dead man walking. Lucius would be furious. Never mind that it had most likely been the other boys fault to start with. As if that would ever stop him. Oh God. Lucius was going to hurt him so badly...

'Severus, my boy! You're awake. Oh, you had me worried this time! You've been under for two days. I had no idea a Dreamless Sleep potion would affect you so strongly!' Nurse Pomfrey bustled around the bed and came up beside him. 'James has been so worried. He and his friends didn't leave until I ordered them to bed two nights ago. Either Remus or James runs up here every spare hour to check on you.'

James? Why the hell would James Potter and his cronies be worried about him? What the hell had happened? He shook his head. A ... a fight? Had he fought them? No. No, Lucius had. Lucius and _his_ cronies. But then, why was he here, apparently with an attendant Potter? Oh, wait. He ... oh, gods no! He couldn't have been so stupid! So bloody Gryffindor-ish as to take one of Lucius' curses for Potter! Lucius ... Furious wasn't going to cover it!

He struggled to sit up, amazed at how tired he still was. Dreamless Sleep or no, he should have been up long before this. What had Lucius hit him with? Why was his memory so sluggish? Was it that ... that his mind had simply reached its limit of endurance? Would he lose more and more until nothing was left? No! He couldn't endure that. His mind was all he had left.

'Oh Severus, lie still! You shouldn't be moving just yet!' She laid a hand gently on his shoulder to lay him back down, and blinked when he reached up to clasp her arm. He didn't use physical contact, clinging fiercely to what privacy he had left.

He looked up at her, and the ache in her heart intensified at the haunted look in his eyes. 'I can't remember. I can't remember what he did to me. My mind won't work. What happened? What has he done to me? What has he done?' A tear slid silently down his cheek, unheeded as he gazed at her, the blank face he built in the face of pain shattered in the face of this fear for his mind. He didn't want to be insane, to lose his reason. His memory.

She couldn't help what she did next. It was instinctive, the healer's urge to ease pain, the mother's urge to comfort her child.She leaned forward and pulled the frail form into an embrace, cradling the shaking boy against her. She hugged him as, after so many years of hiding his pain,he wept. Her tears wet his hair as his wet her front. And through her sorrow she felt a strange joy, that this abused, mistrustful soul should allow her close enough to see his pain, and comfort him.

'Oh, Severus,' she whispered, through a throat clogged with tears. 'Severus, don't fear. It wasn't that. He hasn't taken your mind. He couldn't. You're too strong, too deep for him ever to touch. It's only the dreamless sleep. It's only natural confusion. Don't fear. Oh, my boy, don't fear. I'm sorry. I didn't think. I'm so sorry. So sorry.'

He pulled back a little, and looked at her. He sat there and looked at her for a long moment without moving, without saying anything. Then, slowly and uncertainly, he smiled. A tiny smile, hesitant amid the tears still running down his cheeks, but it was one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen. A thin hand reached up to gently wipe away the tears from her face. 'I'm sorry too,' he whispered. 'I didn't mean to hurt you.'

Poppy stared at him, at the thin child in her lap who gazed at her with such sad, wise eyes. At the trust and love in that fathomless stare. At the thin, bandaged hand that clasped her own. She looked at this world-weary, yet curiously innocent creature that had chosen to grant her his trust, and knew she could never lose it. Whatever the future held for them, whatever shadow cast a pall over their lives, she would always have his trust, and he hers.

She pulled him back into her embrace. 'I know, Severus. I know.'


	2. ch1 Departure

Ferretbouncer: Moody doesn't show up until ch.7, but believe me, it's worth waiting for.

Disclaimer: same as last chapter.

Chapter One

Departure

The dark man stood hidden under the eves of the Forbidden Forest, gazing somberly out at the funeral of the man who had saved him. The man he had murdered. He watched the faces of the mourners, seeing the grief of the staff, the students. Disgust rose in him at the sight of the vaunted Minister of Magic, along with Fudge, Umbridge, and that witch Skeeter. Hypocrites. They had done everything possible to destroy the man they were supposedly mourning, and now because it made for good publicity they were his biggest fans.

Although, to be fair, he was a fine one to be talking. After all, he'd killed the man. A slave can only have so many masters before he is forced to act against one of them, or perish. Not that he wouldn't have died for Dumbledore, but he'd made the only choice that circumstances allowed. He wished the old man hadn't been so understanding of that. He wished he hadn't said please. Severus had seen many things that haunted him, but the old man's eyes as he said those words chilled him deeply. No-one should be so understanding towards their murderer.

The Dark Lord was going to kill him. Probably slowly, definitely painfully. In killing Dumbledore he had defied his Lord and second master. _Draco_ was the one meant to try. Hnh! Meant to _die_. The Dark Lord had wanted Dumbledore captured, to die at his leisure. Severus shuddered. He knew first hand what that would have meant. After all, it was soon to be his fate. The entire mission, the vow too perhaps, had been a trap, and he had failed to see it until it had been too late for all of them. He had not only said the curse that had killed Albus, he had allowed the circumstances that led to it to close around them. Ah, well. Lucius was imprisoned, Dumbledore was dead. Two masters down, and about to be killed by the third.

At least Draco might now survive, if he kept his head down the way Lucius had in the first war. Potter, too, would probably live, though Severus doubted the boy would weep for him the way his father once had. The way ... Poppy once had. She wouldn't now. She couldn't, or they'd know that she had ... had cared for him. He'd betrayed her. Of all the people who had been hurt by his actions, she had been the one he'd most wanted to protect. Well, he could. He'd carry her secrets to his grave.

He turned to leave, then stopped. The blank mask that habitually clouded his features faltered, and for a moment the person who had wept in Poppy's arms, who had smiled at her and wiped away her tears, shone through. 'But I can't leave, can I? I can't leave you unknowing. Ah well.'

He moved carefully along the forest edges, concious of the people gathered on the other side of the lake, of the centaur guard in his immediate vicinity. Finally, he reached a quiet spot near Hagrid's hut. He winced, looking at it. He hoped the man and his dog were alright, for they had offered a silent acceptance to a hurt, stand-offish boy, fresh from a session with his master. Not that Hagrid had known that. At least not who or why. Although neither he nor Poppy had ever told the half-giant for truth, Severus had always suspected that, on some instinctive level, Rubeus had known.

In the quiet, he knelt. He didn't, strictly speaking, have to. Only to Lucius, the Dark Lord, and whatever partner they'd chosen for a session, had he had to kneel. But it was right. Wasn't it right for a slave to kneel before his betters? 'Dobby?' he called gently.

In moments, the ragged elf appeared, dabbing at his huge eyes with a sock. Severus winced again. Then the small elf looked up to see who had summoned him, blinking his eyes to clear them. The man braced, ready for the fury and accusations that would follow. But Dobby surprised him. 'Severus! You is here! You is OK? Is you needing Mistress Poppy? I is getting her, right away! We is all so worried about you, we is! I is going. I is going now!'

Severus shook himself out of his stunned stupor. He reached out to halt the elf's passage. 'Dobby, wait!' The elf paused. 'Don't go for her, Dobby. I can't ... that's not why I called you. Please, just wait.' His hand shook. It was his left, and it had shaken constantly since that night, as he stubbornly rejected his master's call until he had seen the funeral. The Dar... _Voldemort_ ... would kill him anyway. He might as well endure a little more pain to say goodbye to the one master who had treated him with some respect.

He blinked. Dobby was beside him, holding his hand, calling him. 'Severus, it's OK. It's me. Dobby is here. You is OK.' The little elf sounded frantic. 'Yes, I'm fine. I'm sorry for scaring you, Dobby.' And he was. He and this elf had suffered the terror of Lucius together, had done what they could to help each other, had kept each others secrets. Dobby was his frienf, one of the only two he'd ever had. Whatever else he felt for Potter, the boy had his eternal gratitude for freeing Dobby.

He straightened, but kept Dobby's hand clasped in his own. 'Dobby, I have to go. My master calls, and I cannot defy him any longer. But I had ... had to see you. To say goodbye.' He looked down at the fearful face gazing up at him, tears once again filling the huge eyes. 'I will not be coming back. I have defied him too openly this time. He summons me to my death.' Dobby was crying openly now, but did not protest. The house elf understood too clearly what it was to be owned.

'Dobby, I cannot tell Poppy this. I have hurt her too much already. Would you ... would you give her a message for me?' A nod, tearful. 'Tell her ... tell her I'm sorry for what has been, for what I've become. There is no hope for a slave with three masters. But I ... I cannot regret what she has given me, allowing me to hope for even that little time. I'm glad to have lived for that. Tell her to look twice at Draco if he has the chance to come to her, to take care of the children. Tell her ... tell her that she has been more of a friend to me than she will ever know, that she was so much of the reason that Lucius and the Dark Lord could never take all they wanted from me.' He wept freely himself, now. 'Tell her I love her,' he whispered.

He wept silently with his friend for a long moment. Then he wiped his face and stood, ready at last to face his end. He smiled down at Dobby. 'Take care of yourself, and Potter, my friend. Live long and free.' They clasped hands. Severus Snape departed Hogwarts to face the final wrath of his remaining master, and his weeping frined watches him go.

Later, an exhausted Madame Pomfrey entered her chambers to find the house elf waiting for her. One look, and she knew. 'What did he say?' she whispered. Dobby told her. Shaking, she sat, hugging Dobby to her. 'Oh Severus, why do you have to be so brave?'


	3. ch2 Spy

Thanks for the reviews, everyone! Just to explain, the POV changes each ch, and the M rating kicks in this ch. I don't think it's all that graphic, but if you're anyway squemish, you mightn't like this one. And yes, this is SS/PP, and proud of it.

Chapter 2

The Spy

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Remus stretched his legs out in front of him to relieve the cramps, then pulled them back up under him in case he had to move. He was desperately thirsty, but knew better than to ask his leering guards for anything, even a simple drink of water. There was no point in drawing any more attention to himself. Leaning back against the wall, he dozed fitfully.

The rattle of the bolt on the cell door woke him. Blinking rapidly to clear the sleep from his eyes, he struggled to his feet. He met Greyback's gaze squarely as the alpha entered , causing the older werewolf to sneer. 'The Dark Lord has seen fit to invite you to tonight's entertainment, traitor,' he said brusquely. 'Before moonrise, you will watch our human counterparts have their fun, then you will run for the last time with our pack.' He grinned unpleasantly. 'You should enjoy this. The main attraction is one of yours, after all.' Remus' head snapped up, fear suddenly evident in his eyes. Greyback licked his lips, predator instincts tingling with anticipation.

'Wh...who? Who have you captured?' Remus stammered. 'What have you done?' One of his guards snorted. 'Hah! Will you look at him? And we thought he was such a shite actor. To hear him now, you'd never think he'd been sent to get yer man out.' The two laughed to themselves, but Greyback strode forward and seized Remus' chin, forcing their eyes to meet. They stayed frozen in that tableau for a long moment, then Greyback threw back his head and laughed.

'You didn't know, did you? You, all of you, actually believed the old man's deception! Ha! Oh, that's rich. You handed him to the Dark Lord on a silver platter! By Loki, that puts a different face on the man. Guess Dumbledore really had something on him. He couldn't have actually cared, or he would have left a way out. Stupid way to lead a pack. No surprise the old bastard's dead.'

He looked at Remus consideringly. 'You know, the man should have been a werewolf. Better than you at any rate. To walk into death knowing the people you fight for would as soon kill you themselves. Shows guts, and pride. No trust, only truth. Do what you must, and let the world go hang. Way of the world, that. Wasted on the power freaks like Voldemort, or the wash-out, 'love-rules-the-world' lot you belong to. Pity. Could have made something of him. What a spirit to fight with come Ragnarok!'

The alpha werewolf left the cell, shaking his head in wonder at the world. Remus, shackled between his two guards, followed, a sick feeling Growing in his stomach. What had they done?

The circle of Death Eaters stood in absolute silent, eerily lit in the flickering green light from the braziers lining the walls. Remus, chained at one end of the hall, shuddered. Enthroned at the far side of the hall, flanked by Greyback and Bellatrix, lounged the Dark Lord himself. He was listening intently as the werewolf whispered in his ear. The red eyes swept the hall, and landed on Remus. The reptilian face slid into a disturbingly knowing smile. The captive couldn't hide the flinch. The smile broadened.

Voldemort stood, causing all eyes to be drawn to him. He clapped his hands imperiously, either not knowing or not caring about the melodrama of the action. He gestured towards the smaller of the hall entraces, the one through which Remus had come, up from the dungeons.

A phlanx of Dementors glided, achingly slowly, into the room, the distinctive aura of horror and despair preceding them to pervade the room. Such was the depth and power of that aura that it took Remus some moments to climb out of his own dark memories and see the man walking in their midst.

And he did walk, calmly, his face set and blank, showing none of the unease that even the most vicious Death Eaters displayed in the presence of the beings that formed his guard. He was indeed a prisoner, the deep bruising on his face, the hanging arm, and the tattered and bloody state of his robes were evidence enough of that. Yet he didn't slump, he didn't cower, he didn't flinch at the gazes of his tormentors. He was the image of captive strength, and the sight of him caused Remus to cringe inside in a way even the Dark Lord had not.

As the Dementors fanned out from his battered form to surround the room, Severus Snape faced his lord and master, meeting the red eyes unwaveringly. In the silence that followed, the sound of Voldemort's hands clapping was ridiculously loud. He chuckled darkly as he swept down to stand before the prisoner.

'Oh, that was quite the performance, my pet!' he rumbled, reaching up to stroke Severus' face possessively. Severus stiffened slightly under the touch, but did not flinch back. The Dark Lord circled him, trailing a hand lightly from his face to the back if his neck. When he was right behind his prey, the hand tightened suddenly, and yanked the man back against him. 'Do you know what Greyback has told me, pet?' he hissed in Severus' ear, loudly enough to be heard round the hall. 'Do you know what he has discovered?' He spun the man and seized him by the upper arms, pulling him right up into the reptilian face. 'Do you?'

Remus shrank back against the wall, shame tearing at him, making him wish the earth would swallow him. He didn't know what had happened, but he could see that something somewhere had gone horribly wrong. The gentle werewolf, who did his best not to cause pain to anyone, desperately did not want to see the betrayal on Snape's face when he realised he'd been abondoned. He closed his eyes as Snape answered.

'I imagine, my lord, that he has pointed out to you the second spy you failed to see until something so blindingly obvious happened that you couldn't possibly miss him. Not a good record, master. I wonder what else you have missed?'

A low gasp reverberated though the room, and Remus' eyes flew open in horror, gazing expectantly, like everyone else, at the Dark Lord and the captive in his arms, wondering how he would react to such a defiant statement. He was as shocked as everyone else when Voldemort threw back his head and laughed, pulling Severus into a bear hug, ignoring the tightening in his eyes as his broken arm was crushed against his body.

'Ah Severus, entertaining as always! I shall miss your wit after tonight. Such a loss.' His face changed, the eyes blazing fiercely. 'But all who betray me shall perish. And you, my love, you most of all shall suffer!' Remus gasped. His ... love? 'Greyback has told me, love, that the spy believed you mine. All of them believe you mine. They will not come for you. Rather, they would spit on your grave if you had one.' Remus shrank back once more. Voldemort stared into Snape's face, which hadn't changed in the slightest. 'But I see you knew this. All along? But of course, you are not so easily fooled.' He reached up to stroke the bruised face. 'Why, love? Why turn from me for them? Why throw away your future?'

The hall was silent. It seemed that all present hung on Snape's wprds as he replied. He smiled sadly, gently. 'Because your love I am not. Because Lucius sold my services to you as price of his own freedom from your bed. Because I have been a slave most of my life and expect nothing more, but I cannot hand others to you as Lucius handed me. Because the faces of children I taught, lost to you, haunt my dreams more than any torture. because, perhaps, I am foolish in the extreme. I have lived my life as my masters, all three, have dictated. I have failed all of them.' he smiled hauntingly. 'I have no future. I never did. I had nothing left I could lose. That's why.'

Voldemort stepped back from him, his visage impassive. 'There's always more you can lose, slave. And many who are willing to take it from you.' He gestured to the surrounding Death Eaters. 'Begin.'

As the white masks closed in around him, as the first cruciatus was cast, as the first Death Eater rammed himself violently home, the knowing, haunting smile never left the face of the condemned. The dark fathomless eyes stayed locked on Voldemort's red ones until the yanking of his tormentors forced him to break the stare. And if anyone had studied the Dark Lord's face then would have seen fear and hunger. But no-one did. Their attention was all for the entertainment.

Leaving his followers to their games, Voldemort approached the other prisoner cowering against the wall, staring in horror at the melee. Remus paid him no heed, his mind still trying to grasp the horror of what he had learned. Slavery. Lucius, Voldemort. Love...rape. Betrayal. They had made no effort to understand the man they so casually hated. This sufferring, this pain, was their fault as much as Voldemort's. Greyback was right. They had handed the man who had sacrificed more, risked more, than the rest of them put together, to the Dark Lord on a silver platter.

'Beautiful, isn't it?' Remus looked at the creature towering over him in horror. The Dark Lord laughed. 'I suppose one of your kind cannot appreciate the stark beauty of death , the hyponotism of watching another's fear and knowing it is of you. Not that Severus ever showed the slightest fear. Even now, if you watch him, he'll make no sound, show no pain. Never once, in all his years of service to me, has he screamed. He is the most fascinating creature I have ever met. Don't you think so?' He looked at Remus expectantly, but he could find no answer. Over the years he had found Severus to be many things. Pityful, annoying, hateful. Later, cold, distant, embittered. Now, knowing what he did, he saw the pain of the man, but could no longer pity him. He could only admire the fierce courage that could drive the man to endure so much for people who couldn't care less about him. Fascinating was not the word.

Voldemort leaned down to him and whispered earnestly in his ear, as if imparting a great secret. 'You know, it's a great pity he couldn't stop your canine friend the night he was flushed out. He went to such lengths to convince us that the renegade Black was dead. Imagine how disappointed I was to learn that this was not the case. If only he had told me the truth, I might not have been so suspicious of him, hm?' He leaned back, apparently delighted at the sight of the tears that Remus could no longer hold back.

'Now, now. Hush. Don't cry. I'll make it all better. After all, with Severus gone, I'm free to keep you company in the night.' He stroked Remus' face, much as had done with Severus. Remus shuddered uncontrollably, wondering through a fog of sudden terror how the man had borne it so long. The hand that stroke his face moved to brush the hair from it. Voldemort grasped his chin, lifting his face to move it from side to side. 'Hm. You are not so attractive as he. You flinch too readily, and your eyes show your fear too clearly. If you wish to survive after tonight, you must learn to interest me. Too many of my lovers have failed in that regard. Only Severus remained a persistant mystery.'

Suddenly flinging Remus from him, the Dark Lord spun, fury on his face. 'Damn you for turning from me, dark one! Damn you for taking my pleasure. I'll finish you right here, right now, for that. You had no right, slave, to defy your master. No right!' He strode forward, encompassing all present in a furious slashing gesture. 'SILENCE! Give me the traitor!'

The Death Eaters scattered before him, terror evident in their frenzy. In the centre of the hall, abandoned by their retreat, Severus lay in a ragged, bloody heap. Scrambling to his feet, Remus watched as the Dark Lord knelt over the tattered form. Severus' eyes were closed, and Remus desperately hoped that he would be unconcious for whatever was to come. No such luck. The black eyes slid open and stared expressionlessly at the creature crouched over him.

'It's time, love. I made you a promise, that I would teach you to scream before you died. I will keep my word to you, although you afforded me no such courtesy.'

He turned Severus onto his stomach, holding almost gently. Then he withdrew his wand from a billow of his robes. Moving slowly, tenderly, he pulled the tatters of cloth away from his captive's torso and legs. He slid the wand up into him. Severus' head came up, eyes suddenly wide. Unable to control the wolf's instinct to protect its pack, Remus lunged forward, horror and the influence of a fast approaching full moon making him snarl incoherently. Desperately straining, he watched as Voldemort's other hand held Severus' head still, and in a sick parody of a lover's whisper, the Dark Lord said one word.

'Crucio!'

Severus' back arched violently upwards, and his mouth opened in a silent scream. It didn't remain silent long, however. His face contorting in agony, he let loose an inhuman cry, for no human throat should be capable of producing a sound to encompass such pain. All the werewolves present angled towards the sound, hunters recognising the death cry of a wounded prey, animals knowing the sound of the greater hunter, Death.

Moments before the writhing of his victim snapped his wand, Voldemort withdrew it. The form beneath his hands collapsed, the scream dying. The Death Eaters and Remus cranned forwards, trying to see if he were dead or alive. A tense, straining silence followed. Then Severus drew in a harsh, ragged breath, and the tension broke. The Death Eaters cheered their master, for none yet had seen such a technique. In fact, it was the first time even Voldemort had used it. Remus wept, for the ruin of a courageous man, for the loss of one he had come to realise was pack to him, if only too late.

Voldemort stood, wiping the blood and fluid from his wand. 'Come my servants. It's past time to be gone, and the hour of our wolfish breathren approaches.' Behind him, a massive doorway, the width of the hall, opened out onto a snowfilled forest. In the growing gloom of twilight, a faint silver glow indicated the approach of moonrise. As his wholly human followers appartated out, the Dark Lord beckoned Greyback,

'Do as you will with the corpse, but he is not to survive, nor become as you are. I wish him dead.' With that, the Dark Lord disappeared, leaving Remus bound in a room full of werewolves, himself one of them, with the full moon on the rise, and a barely-alive comrade lying helpless in their midst.


	4. ch3 Survivors

Sorry it took so long to update, but unfortunately from now on updates will be on the eratic side. Access to computers, and all that jazz. Anyway, enjoy! Sort of a filler chapter, this.

Disclaimer: I don't own HP.

Chapter 3

Survivors

At the moment, breathing was the most difficult thing Severus had ever had to do. His head was light, and full of a dull roaring, and his body had passed through agony into some other, stranger realm on the other side. But that was to be expected. The punishment of the last few days, exhaustion, and malnutrition would have done for him eventually anyway. Add to that tonight's revels, and he was a 'goner', as his students said. But his master's parting shot had sealed his fate. When the spear of fire transfixing him had receded and he had been allowed to slump, he had felt the utter destruction inside. His spine and lower abdomen were gone, almost liquified by the trauma of the spell. His heart and lungs laboured to function past the ruin of his lower body. Each passing moment weakened him further, towards the point of death. He couldn't do a thing.

But he had to. He had to move, to fight, because they hadn't even had the decency to let him die alone. That damned werewolf had gone and gotten himself captured, and was chained up and sobbing at the far side of the hall. With the full moon coming, a chained werewolf would be torn to pieces by his fellows. And even if he survived this night, it was clear from Voldemort's interest in him earlier that he was lined up as Severus' replacement. He wouldn't survive long in that capacity.

So. To-do list. One: figure out how to move, and fight. Two: get Lupin unchained, and give him the wolfsbane secreted in his robes, if it was still in what was left of his robes, and not rolling around on the floor somewhere. Three: get killed quickly so that the bloody hero complex wouldn't kick in and keep Lupin from running. Well, that one shouldn't be too difficult. It was staying alive long enough to accomplish the other too that was going to be a problem.

He focused inwards, ignoring the physical ruin, searching for the magical reserve locked down and shielded as part of his Occlumency wards. He'd been storing magic there for years, siphoning off a little of the power of every spell he cast, channelling it through through wandless magic and occlumency into the reserve. Once deposited, he ignored the magic, hoarding it until it was needed, never drawing from it, until now. In truth, he had no idea how much the reserve contained. Probably not enough, but his magic was as receptive to change as the rest of him, and once shown the way would open itself up to wandless use.

He realeased the mental locks, and immediately a warm flood of magic filled him, ready for use. He was somewhat stunned by the raw strength of it. Possibly stored magic matured and gained potency, like alcohol? Alcohol. Maybe he could use a drink. _Maybe you're dying, and therefore running out of time. Get a move on!_

He stretched out his useable arm, the movement drawing attention from the surrounding werewolves. He'd almost forgotten about them. Greyback glanced over at him, then gestured at his pack. They then proceeded to ignore him, returning their attention to the night sky. Only Greyback continued to study him. Severus knew the alpha was at least partially aware of his intent. He always was. Animals were far more sensitive to him than humans. But he and Fenrir had a tacit agreement, of sorts, an unspoken respect for each other. Come moonrise, the alpha would lead the pack against him, but in the meantime he would allow Severus to prepare however he could.

'Accio Wolfsbane.' His voice was cracked and hideous, results of his first scream in over twenty years. He expended as little energy on the spell as possible, with the result that instead of flying to his hand, the vial rolled gently from its position a few feet away. So it hadn't stayed in his robes. The Unbreakable charm had been a wise precaution. Most of the precautions he took were. Like having the bloody potion to start with. How he had come up with that one he had no idea. Perhaps Dobby was rubbing off on him. 'Always be prepared for what you is having to do.' He smiled slightly at the memory of the elf. Whatever the case, he had the potion, and he could use it.

There wasn't a hope in hell that he'd be able to drag himself over to Remus manually, but he would have to approach the other to administer the wolfsbane, and unlock the shackles. He sighed, or started to, but the distressing gurgle in his lungs stopped him. He had to move now, or he wouldn't be able to move at all.

_Levicorpus_, he thought, concentrating on his body getting lighter. That wasn't too difficult, seeing as there wasn't all that much left of it. Slowly, he levitated gently to hover a few inches above the ground, smirking. _Who needs a broom, Potter, when you can do this!_ Then he realised what he had just thought. He had moved into delirium. Not surprising, but not encouraging either.

Trying to ignore the disturbing tendancy to wander that his thoughts now had, he focused the magic and floated gently over to Remus. It was only after he had set himself down in front of him that he noticed the werewolf's horrified stare. He was tempted to snap at him, but his throat was sore enough. He thrust the vial into Lupin's hands, watching him sniff it cautiously, already looking rather feral. Realising what he held, Lupin downed it hurriedly. Not a moment too soon, either, if the shifting of his features was anything to go by. Focusing once more, Severus performed a quick _Alohomora_ charm, and the cuffs clattered to the floor.

The grunts, and other, less pleasant, sounds filling the room indicated that the change was on all present. Really, he should just take it easy and let them do what they pleased, but Lupin would go accustomed to his lupine form that much slower owing to the effects of the wolfsbane. Therefore, to keep the other alive, he would have to fight until then. Also, some part of him, the part that had lashed out when the brat had persisted in calling him a coward, rebelled at the notion of simjply letting Death come. That part wanted him to force his battered body to rise, to fight with every trick and tactic he had learned in long years as a spy and duelist. He didn't want to die a beaten slave. He wanted to die a warrior, overcome in battle, fighting to the death with all he had.

Damn! That bloody hero complex was infectious! After so long around Potter, Lupin and Black, not to mention Dumbledore...Oh dear. Best not to think of that. And anyway, death was coming anyway. He might as well do what he felt like in his last hour. Or minute. Or whatever.

A click of claws on stone alerted him to the movements of the werewolves behind him. He calculated quickly. Twelve in total, and only a couple who liked to hunt alone. So up to ten who would have stayed for more immediate sport. Ten fullgrown, bloodthirsty werewolves, all with the scent of his blood clouding their senses. What fun!

Well, time to start. He seized his magic, and shot up into the air, spinning to face his opponents. Those closest backed up at the sudden movement. Three close, four spread out around the hall, another three in a cluster near the forest door. Damn. One more than he had hoped. Oh, well. _Incendio!_ A gout of silver flame leapt from his damaged arm to surround the pair near on his left. He stared at the limb in shock. Incendio didn't usually...obviously wandless magic worked rather differently. The flames died, leaving the closer werewolf in a smoking heap and the other limping away with a severly singed side. The third leapt in the intervening time, and only a quick spin saved his leg from the snapping jaws. He should have been terrified, but a dangerous exhileration denied the fear.

The huge grey wolf farther down the hall nodded to him. _Welcome to the hunt, Dark Brother. Blood is spilled, and you are ours!_ The fierce thoughts skimmed the edge of his shields. Fenrir, of the line of the wolf gods, the original werewolves, was in his element, and raring for battle. With a silent roar, Severus flew to oblige him.

For long moments, he lost himself in the roar of battle, the action and reaction, the strategy and instinct. He was joined by Lupin in man-wolf form, using the greater strategy of his human mind in tandem with the wolfish instincts. Not that you'd see that if you didn't know what to look for. To everyone else, it just looked like a vicious, ravening monster on a rampage. Severus smiled. Looked like someone was having fun.

But it couldn't last. It was a battle to the death, but his death was already determined, so it was pointless. He was forced to draw more and more magic to sustain his labouring heart, which in turn made the blood flow more freely from his wounds. The damage was too great to keep this up. But the fierce thrill driving them all denied its ending. To the death, for them all.

Or perhaps not. Severus did not notice it at first, with his mind-shields slammed tight, but the werewolves did. Horror, despair. A miasma of dark emotions, rising like a tide to claim all. In the air, he turned back to face the abandoned hall, and sighed. Dementors. A host of them, flooding out into the clearing. They had followed the battle outside, savouring the thrill of it. Now, sensing its ending, they had come to finish the feast.

Greyback and his two remaining comrades began to slink back, deep into the woods. Lupin stood poised at the edge of the clearing, instict urging him to flee, heroism urging him to stay. Severus hung in the centre, knowing that he could not run. Not from them. Suddenly, Fenrir moved back into the clearing. _Fly to me, Dark Brother. Fly to me and I will grant you clean ending. _Severus blinked, then nodded his understanding. _No, Fenrir. A wolf cannot fight this. You will only be taken in my stead. Join another hunt. I'll not let these hatewraiths have me._ The alpha stared at him for a long moment, then turned and slipped, silent as a shadow, into the deeper gloom. Severus turned to face the Dementors once more. _Run, Remus! Run, you bloody idiot!_ He sent, then ignored the other's presence.

Patronus. He'd never cast one, never had the ability. Any happy, any peaceful memories he had were buried deep, beneath layers and layers of shielding, where no master could touch them. But that hardly mattered now. He was not about to become a mindfeast for a bunch of damn Dementors. So he called them, called the memories. Of Poppy, ordering him about with laughter in her eyes, tending to him out of love and not duty, granting silent understanding even when he could not tell what he had done, or had had done to him. Of Dobby, querelously going about showing him basic house elf cleaning spells, fixing him up as he fixed Dobby up after Lucius. Of hearing of his friend's freedom. Of his children. Of his proud, fierce Slytherins. Of learning that Neville Longbottom had found the raw nerve to take Potions to NEWT level to become a healer.

They were his, in their pride and their humility, in their courage and their fear. Each had touched his life, and he could not allow his death to fail them. He abandoned the magic holding his tattered body together, and threw it all into the summoning. As he began to fall back to earth, he murmured the spell on a laboured sigh.

He was barely conscious as the great silver hawk burst forth from his chest, as the man-wolf that was Remus Lupin caught his falling body, as his soaring Patronus tore through the ranks of Dementors, as their flight began. But before he slid down to darkness, he was aware of one more thing. He heard the beginnings of the phoenix song, felt the warm swell of peace that accompanied it. He saw through blurred eyes the silver hawk ascending twinned in a double helix with the golden firebird. And though he knew what it had to mean, he could not fear as the glorious lilting cadence carried him down the dark tide to rest.


	5. ch4 Returnings

Ladies & Gentlemen, I give you ... Albus Dumbledore! But you're not going to like it, because this is where the Dumbledore-bashing comes in. But someone has to save Severus and Remus, and he's the only one with a phoenix on hand. Anyway...

Chapter 4

Returnings

Albus Dumbledore sat in the air, trying to ignore the terrorized anxiety clawing through him. What if he was too late? What if they were already ... ? What the hell had gone so wrong! The plan had been to secure Severus a position as a trusted Death Eater, not secure him a death sentance!

Yet there was no doubt in his mind that the boy had been telling the truth. Once Draco had gotten over the fact that he was dead, and realised exactly who he was sharing the afterlife with, the boy had _launched_ at him. By turns horrified, tearful, striken, accusing, and furious, the blonde child had revealed to him the trap, the carefully layered deception that had resulted in Albus' murder, Severus' renewed public enslavement, and Draco's own death, orchestrated to come by Muggle hands during a raid. A muggle wielding a shotgun. The pureblood seemed particularly digusted with that, but even with all his years of breeding for that hatred, Draco was still far more concerned by the fate of his teacher, to his eyes the only one who had at least tried to help him. And perhaps he had a point. Which was why Albus was sitting as a ghost in this tree, waiting for a sign of his children.

Beside him Fawkes trilled uneasily, as the sounds of battle erupted in the forest around them. Albus stirred. It was them! His boys were out there fighting for their lives, and from the sound of things, fighting hard. Despite his worry, he couldn't help the swell of pride within him. There could be no doubting the capability of the pair. Even Severus had acknowledged Remus' resourcefulness and courage, although he had phrased the comment to sound as disparaging as possible. But that was only his way. As for the potions master himself... well, save perhaps Harry, Albus knew of no braver soul. He had faced years of pain without flinching, without faltering.

And that, perhaps, was what worried Albus the most. Had Severus known this was coming, and made no move to stop it? Had he saved Albus the long slow torment of death, only at the cost of himself?

In truth, he had no way of knowing. As an Occlumens, Severus was impenetrable, and no-one ever got through his shielding. In all his years, facing two Dark Lords, fighting unnumbered foes, he had never encountered a mind to match that of the dour spy. Where others erected walls to protect their minds, Severus used mirrors, misleadings, shields, dreams and imagined memories, connected by no logical system that an outsider could decipher. The invader became lost amid the mind-boggling confusion, unable to locate one stream of thought, one memory. His mind was a maze to which only he had the key.

Most had no idea of this. When they tried to explain how Severus had gotten his trust, they assumed that Albus had performed a leglimens charm, not knowing that he couldn't have scratched the surface of such shields. Alastor, of course, had far more varied theories. But even he hadn't come close to the truth.

The truth that Severus had sold himself, body and soul, to Albus. They didn't know. They hadn't been there as the Death Eater, only barely in his twenties, had entered his office and calmly offered him a portion of his slave bond. They hadn't seen the cool black eyes appraise him as the young man, as if discussing a potion preparation, laid out the macabre ritual step by step, after learning the method during Lucius' partial transfer to Tom. They hadn't felt the numb horror as the powers and controls of a master, the potential problems of a three-pronged slave bond were laid out for him.

He trusted Severus with his life, with his death, with the future beyond the war, because how could he not? How could he deny the strength of will, the courage, to offer yourself up completely to right a wrong you had never comitted? No, he had to save Severus. He had to find a way to allow the man the rest of his life.

A sudden hush distracted him from his thoughts. The sounds of battle died, but so did all others. An unnatural silence descended. Beside him, Fawkes shifted in agitation, rocking forward aggressively. It was a stance he had come to recognize during Harry's third year. The phoenix had sensed the presence of Dementors.

'Oh no! No! I will not lose them to that. I wil not let those _creatures_ have my boys. Fawkes!' But the firebird was already airborne, swooping just above tree level towards the dark building rising out of the forest. But there was no way they would reach it in time. Despair rose to trap Albus, who in this raw spirit form was especially vunerable. Even Fawkes was having difficulties.

Despair and shame dragged him down. _Do you really want to watch his death, slave master? Do you really want to see the damage you've done? Do you think he'll welcome the sight of you in his last moments? Think what you've done, old man. Think of the horror you've allowed to take place._ Albus sank down, spirit hands to spirit ears in a futile effort to block the thoughts that stemmed from inside himself. _Think of the duty that you forced on him. Think of his pain that you saw and ignored. Think of the hate that you allowed to be fostered against him. Slave master? Yes. No different from the others. You..._

And then, suddenly as they had come, the black thoughts receded. Almost weeping with relief, Albus Dumbledore raised his head to watch in awe as the phoenix, joyfully singing, soared above the treetops, linked in glorious dance with a stunning silver hawk, bladed wings slicing the air with a predator's fierce power. The sounds of ground movement only barely distracted him, until he saw the man-wolf, clutching a tattered dark form to his chest, running low and powerful beneath the partnered birds. And he was himself again, an old ghost filled with concern for a dying friend.

He darted forward. 'Remus! To me! Follow me!' The wolfish head snapped up, raw aggression first, replaced by shock, fading to determination and recognition of need. The long stride didn't falter, almost carrying the werewolf through the ghost, before Albus spun and glided ahead. And so they fled - ghost leading werewolf, werewolf cradling comrade, while above them, gold and silver paired, flew the phoenix and the soul-beast of Severus Snape.

Almost an hour later, in a clearing deep into the forest, they stopped. Remus laid Severus gently down, allowing Albus near him, while the birds settled overhead.

Albus stared down at his spy, his slave, his beloved friend. The black eyes were closed, the haggard face a still white mask, eerily peaceful. Only the barest whisper of breath passed the blued lips. The torn and tattered robes, soaked with blood, showed the skeletal, abused body beneath. Physically, Severus was no more than a ruin. But Albus felt the fierce gaze of the soul-bird on his back, the spirit of a Patronus created at the moment of death from the memories of all the creator held dear, that held the life-force and hope of continued existence. He was awed that Severus had managed to create one, for a soul-beast was an incredibly powerful ancient magic. It acted like a Horcrux, in a way, but instead of splitting the soul, it manifest it in physical form, separate from the body but linked to it, preserving the life of the creator. The creature in the tree behind him was none other than the soul of Severus Snape made manifest.

'Oh, dark child,' he whispered, tearful pride in his voice. 'My fierce, valiant one. You'll not be conquered, will you? Not even by death. You'll fight us all, fight the world, until its very end. Severus, you have to survive. You have to see the difference you've made. You'll get your chance to fight them, I promise. Fawkes?'

The phoenix settled by Severus' head, trilling gently. The firebird gracefully parted the dying man's lips with its beak, so that as the tears came, they rolled down it like drops of molten silver, into his mouth. Albus and Remus retreated respectfully, watching as the glow of healing spread. They were somewhat disturbed by the sight of a broken rib visibly realigning itself. It was painfully obvious that the spy had been starved, as well as everything else.

The healing took a long time, too long. The damage was phenomenal. Severus should have been dead hours ago. His body's resistance was beyond belief. And it would have to resist a little longer, it seemed. Fawkes pulled back, exhausted, without being able to do more that barely close the outer wounds. The internal damage had simply been too great, taking almost all the phoenix had. Greatly saddened by such evidence of maltreatment, Albus moved to comfort his weary familiar.

Before he could, the soul-beast moved between them. The hawk rubbed beaks with Fawkes in gratitude, then settled on Severus' chest. Staring fiercely at Dumbledore, the silver beast sank slowly into its body. For a moment, a silver glow surrounded the man, then that too faded. Albus moved to his phoenix, stroking his head with one ghostly hand as he watched Severus concernedly. Remus moved in, reaching carefully down with a clawed hand to touch the still face. At once, the eyes blinked open, staring blankly upwards. The man-wolf jerked back. For a moment, nothing happened. Then Severus blinked.

'Albus?' he ground out, voice hoarse. 'I'm here.' 'What the hell do you think you're doing, old man? So much for the next great adventure!' He turned his head to glare. Albus smiled benignly, then, unable to help himself, he burst into laughter. Severus continued to glare at him, and Remus looked confused, but he couldn't stop. All his fear, all his pent worry, vanished with that sarcastic retort. Severus was himself, bad-tempered and snarky as always. It seemed he would let nothing stop him, nothing change him. Complete in himself, aloof and self-sustaining as the hawk his soul became.

'Oh, my boy, I couldn't just leave you, after all you've done for us. You've time left this side of the veil, and I had to be sure you availed of it. You've life left to live, and people awaiting your return...' He stopped as Severus surged upwards, anger in his eyes, and fear. 'Who! Who are you talking about? What do you mean? There's no-one!' Albus looked at him in shock. 'Severus, you musn't think that! You've helped so many, so much. There are those who still trust you, I'm sure of it. At the very least, Remus and I trust you. You must believe that!' Confused, he watched the flicker of emotions, concern, relief, calculation, that crossed the other's face. Had things really been so bad for him that he believed he had no-one? _Of course, slave master. Don't you remember their hate, their mistrust that you did nothing to remedy? Didn't you engineer it to be so, so that you could be the only one he could turn to? To keep him from betraying you the way he did his other masters? #_ No! No, I'm not like that # he thought desperately.

Suddenly he gasped, as his gaze flickered across Severus' bared forearm, his left, the one that had borne the Dark Mark. Now ,though, no sign of the evil brand could be seen, and there wasn't enough left of the sleeve to hide it, which meant...

'Severus!' The younger man's gaze swung to him. 'Your arm, Severus. The Mark! It's...' Severus looked down at the bared limb, free of the brand that had marred it for the better part of twenty years. Cautiously, he felt the arm, muttering under his breath. The skin seemed to shimmer beneath his fingers, then it returned to normal, still smooth and unmarked. The three of them stared at it. Quietly, Severus murmured to himself 'Two down, two thirds free.' Albus stared. If Voldemort had disowned him, and Albus himself were dead... 'Severus! Lucius is dead! I saw him. I know this. It's not two masters down. It's three! You're free, Severus, fully free!

Why didn't he react? Granted, Albus highly doubted that Severus Snape would ever jump for joy, no matter what the situation, but you'd think he'd at least acknowledge freedom from twenty six years of slavery. Obviously concerned, Remus moved in and touched Severus gently on the shoulder. To the surprise of all present, the spy leaned back into the werewolf, seeking comfort. His eyes closed wearily. 'You are sure?' Albus nodded. 'Of course I'm sure!' Severus swallowed. 'You know I have been loyal? There is no need to trick me into following you?' Striken, Albus stared at him. 'Severus, I would never...never hurt you that way. He's dead. Really. You are finally free, to...to make your own choices. I...we...no-one will force you again. I swear to you!'

Severus nodded, eyes still closed. Cautiously, he reached up and wrapped a hand around Remus' claw. He gave a sweet, lilting trill, and Fawkes, wrapping Albus in warm wings, settled them both on the man-wolf's shoulder. Fawkes shouldn't have been able to hold a ghost, ans Severus certainly shouldn't have been able to speak phoenix, but it seemed there was a lot Albus didn't know about either of them.

They waited in stillness, for what, Albus was unsure. Then Severus' eyes opened, curiously reflective, and suddenly, with a sensation similar to that of a portkey, the forest around them disappeared, to be replaced by a more familiar one. To one side, the lake glinted, reflecting the lights of the castle. Hogwarts.


	6. ch5 Unity

Ladies & Gentlemen, we've had a portion of the horror, now for the romance. Time for Poppy to get her due. Enjoy!

Chapter 5 Unity

Poppy sat wearily at her desk, finally able to rest a bit. The school was so quiet. Almost no-one had stayed for the Christmas holidays, not even a good portion of the staff. With Voldemort on the rise, Dumbledore's death, and the subsequent disappearance of the Boy Who Lived, it seemed that everyone had yielded to a sense of fatalism, and determined to spend Christmas with their families while they still could.

The infirmary was blessedly empty, but she had worked anyway, stockpiling potions, organising deliveries to HQ, making ready for the coming term. She had been busy this year. Tragedy had struck some hard, and she had dealt with six attempted suicides among the students so far, Slytherin in particular, what was left of it, was hard struck. Poppy doubted that anyone truly realised what a stabalising force Severus had been for his House. She had seen the results of his work over the year. A small group of Slytherins had come to her, and set up watch so that at least one person was there tor each of her suicidal patients at all times. It seemed that Severus, as Slytherin Head of House, had formed the group from students with similar problems that he had encountered over the years. Their function was basic security and support. Inspired, Poppy had set about extending the group to offer the same services to affected students from other houses. The group, called Survivors, was now only equalled in size by Dumbledore's Army, the defense group.

Sighing, she slumped back, watcing the house elves moving about her office, including the ever-present Dobby. All the elves were rather subdued, reflecting the attitude of the whole school, but Dobby was suffering the double blow of losing Harry, the boy who had freed him, and Severus, his friend and confidante. The little elf had taken to sleeping in her armchair at night, and to be honest, she was glad of the company, Dobby now worked almost exclusively in the infirmary, along with Neville on weekends.

Neville. A touch of pride filled her at the thought of the quiet boy. He was a promising healer, possessing an instinct for the pain of others that could have lead him to be a formidable warrior, or a healer beyond compare. Although in times like these many would have chosen the former path, Neville had realised that in war, the healers who work to mend broken lives are as important as the warriors who fight for freedom. He had adamantly stuck to his choice. His presence was one of the few highlights of her current situation.

So much had happened since Albus' death last summer. Some had firmed in their resolve, and fought all the harder, others had bowed to tragedy and lived with a fatalistic expectation of death. Harry and his friends had left on their own quest, moving in secret, taking the hopes of many with them. Hogwarts went on, watched constantly by the Ministry in the wake of the attack, Minerva making a competent Headmistress, but the sense of fatalism was there yet. Paranoia njled in London, and the whole country existed in a state of war.

Merlin, but she was so tired. She was tired of watching the halls for broken students, tired of worrying every night that she would be called to attend one of the Order, tired of watching for news of raids, of waiting for every body to be identified in case it was Harry, or one of their allies, or... or Severus, She was tired of waiting, of hoping to find him collapsed in her armchair in the morning, only to find herself alone save for Dobby. She wished she'd had the chance to say the things they'd never said to each other, until Severus left to die. She wished he were here. Until she held his body in her arms, she couldn't give up hope. He had survived so much. Maybe he could survive just this one more time. She had to hope.

She was woken from exhausted sleep some hours later by a clamour from the infirmary. Wearily she pushed herself to her feet. Dobby scrambled up out of the armchair and moved to her side. She stepped out into the other room.

And stepped right back again. There was a huge man-wolf in there! The creature turned to her and, seeing her fear, raised its hands placatingly. 'Remus?' she asked. 'Fawkes?' The phoenix fluttered over his head. 'Are you injured?' What was going on? Suddenly, two forms moved out from behind the wolf. Without thought, her wand was in her hand, but she recognised them. One was a ghost, and unmistakably Albus Dumbledore, while the other...

'Severus!' Dobby cried, rushing forwards. Dignity forgotten, she flung herself after him. Oblivious to the stares of the other two, she grabbed Severus and pulled him into a fierce embrace, Dobby between them with his arm around Severus' neck, all three of them weeping with relief and joy. They rocked back and forth drunkenly, before collapsing on the edge of the nearest bed. Unable to stop, she wept uncontrollably, and he held her. Wrapping his arms around her, he cradled her as she had cradled him all those years before, and it was his tears that wet her hair, and hers that wet his chest. Dobby withdrew slightly out of respect, his eyes tearful and joyous.

"Never again!' she wept. "Never again, do you hear me? 1 dont care who comes for you, who wants to order you around. I'll _silencio _them permanently! I'll feed them so many sleeping potions that they won't remember their own names, let alone yours!' She was aware that he tried to hush her, but she ranted on regardless. 'The next person who hurts you, who even looks at you funny, I'll hex them into the afterlife! I'll.,.' He leant down to capture her mouth with his, and swallowed her fierce words. Her eyes flew open in shock, then slid gently closed again as she returned the kiss. Unlike their embrace, which had brought them to their knees, this was deep and gentle and unspeakably tender. His hands cupped her tear-slicked cheeks as hers tangled his hair, and only when their lungs burned for want of air did they break apart.

She looked up at him in wonder. He smiled down at her. 'You wont have to do any of that,' he murmured. 'I can do it myself, now,' Hope sprang up. 'You mean ... ?' He smiled, and showed her his left arm, bared and unmarked. 'I'm free.' For a long moment, they stared down at it, wondering, then Dobby put his spindly hands across it and drew their attention. The small elf looked up at them, crying unabashed. 'You is free. We is both free, and Master Lucius is dead. We is making it! You is saying we is making it, and we is!' He danced an ecstatic little jig. 'Free! We is free!' Then, just as suddenly, he sobered. "Mistress Poppy is right. You is not leaving again. We is not letting you go. We is not letting anyone hurt you again.'

Severus looked down at him, then at her, a curiously determined look on his face. She felt the worry grow again. There is one more bond I must make,' he said quietly. 'I...' But she let him say no more. 'No! Not again! You are not making us go through this again! You have no responsibility to any of them anymore!' She swung on the ghost at the end of the bed. 'Albus Dumbledore, if you've put him up to this, I swear I'll set every ghost in this castle on you!' Albus backed away from her fury, but Severus caught her chin. "He has not, Poppy. I make this choice of my own free will, for it is no slave bond. It requires free choice of both parties, a pledge to join for life.' Her heart gave a queer thrill as he knelt smoothly before her. She moved to kneel with him.

"Poppy. Will you marry me?' Black eyes met hers squarely, full of an emotion too deep to name. She could no longer think, she could no longer speak for the emotion clogging her throat, yet she must, for there was one word it was vitally important she say. She swallowed hard, met his gaze, and answered.

'Yes.'

His smile was like the moon rising, pale and haunting in its beauty. She could barely believe this. An hour ago she had feared him dead, and now ... She paused, thinking how close she had truly come to losing him. They couldnt wait, not in times so uncertain as these. 'Now! Lets do it now! Dobby?' Severus blinked, then smiled as understanding dawned. He turned with her to look at their friend. Dobby nodded, solemnly. With a cry of laughter, they leapt up, capering to the door. Before leaving, she turned to the bewildered werewolf, and the incomprehending ghost. 'You're invited, of course,' she said.

Laughing, they raced through the halls, hand in hand, feeling like a pair of children. They hit the stairs, heading for the Room of Requirement on the 7th floor. Rather than climb, he caught her in his arms, and raised them both into the air. She laughed delightedly, totally unconcerned. The very fact that they had survived to do this was a miracle. Flying to their wedding was perfectly natural. He whirled her in an ascending waltz, eyes sparkling with devilment. She leaned in to claim his laughter for her own with a brushing kiss.

Dawn broke around them. Below on the stairs, Remus paused as the man-wolf morphed back to human form, naked. Caught in the elation, he ran on regardless. Poppy chuckled, calling down. 'Ihope none of the students are up, Mr Lupin. Your state would cause considerable outcry!' He looked up and grimaced apologetically, but came on, grinning. Severus leaned into whisper in her ear, 'Anyone directly below us will have cause for outcry also,' he grinned, grimacing in mock distress as she punched him lightly on the shoulder. 'Now, now. You wouldn't want me to drop you, would you?' She leaned into him. 'You'll never drop me. Not ever.' Sighing, he pulled her close. "Not ever,' he echoed. And knew it was true.

They were met on the landing by Dobby, with the entire house elf population of Hogwarts, the Bloody Baron, and the Grey Lady gathered around him. At the sight of Severus, the elves gave a quiet cheer, clustering around him, hugging and patting him. She had to laugh at his bemused and touched expression. It was about time he saw how much they cared. The ghosts were something of a surprise, though, and of their motives she was unsure.

A hush fell on the party as Remus and Albus arrived. Actually, she supposed she should have been shocked at the deceased Headmaster's return too, but she had been a little preoccupied. But the house elves' reaction startled her. Rather than greeting him, they instead gathered protectively around their recently returned companion, warily facing the intruders. The ghosts and Dobby moved to intercept the uncomfortable newcomers. Dobby drew Remus aside, presenting him with a rather tatty set of robes, leaving the ghosts to face each other.

'Well met, Headmaster Dumbledore,' the Bloody Baron intoned. He and the Lady bowed in greeting. Albus returned the gesture respectfully. 'We did not expect you to join our ranks, Headmaster,' the Grey Lady murmured, one pale eyebrow raised questioningly. Albus shook his head. 'I did not expect it either. I was sent back, by a distraught child and an unfinished duty.' The Lady sighed. 'Oh dear. We are glad that you have recognised that you have a duty. However, you may regret choosing to fulfil it. You see, the event of death has many effects, and when a slave bond is involved, it becomes complicated.' Poppy held Severus' arm as he made to move forward. The Lady looked to her partner. 'Put simply, Headmaster,' the Baron finished, 'By returning to this world after death, you have caused the control you had over Severus Snape in life to become his over you in death.' A stunned silence fell. She felt Severus quiver with anguish under her hand.

'I ... see,' Dumbledore said. Abruptly Severus wrenched free and strode forward, utter fury on his foce. She followed a step behind. 'Stop this?' he commanded. 'It was I who instigated the bond, and circumstance gave him little choice but to accept it. You cannot call him to task for accepting what was freely offered!' He fairly vibrated with fury. 'Child ..." the Grey Lady began, but he cut across her. "No! You cannot! To ask someone to indure this existance beyond death is ... it is beyond thought! Death is freedom! The only freedom that can be achieved. To violate that... what you propose is an evil beyond reach of mortal aim.' They looked at him grimly. Poppy stood beside him, hand on his arm in support.

'Severus.,.' the Bloody Baron started, but this time it was Albus who interupted. 'I acknowledge that any control I had over Severus is relinquished, and that as long as I exist in this world, he will have that same control over me.' He paused, and smiled wryly. 'Indeed, I see no other way it should be.'

Poppy, feeling Severus tremble in anguish, aimed a furious glare at the three of them Of all the low-down tricks, and at a time that should have been happy. Their wedding ... Then, Severus shook free of his malaise, and stood facing Albus. ' will deal with this later,' he ground out, a strange expression on his face, 'In the meantime, if there are no further objections, I should like to get married!' He turned, and strode to the door. He stood there for a long moment, putting away his anger. She wished she could do the same. Then he turned to her, and she couldn't have been angry if she tried. Her heart leapt at the love in his eyes. He took her hand, gently but firmly, and opened the door.

They entered the room together, and smiled at the sight that greeted them. The house elves seemed perfectly at home here, but without even looking she could feel the confusion of the others. She had to laugh at their lack of understanding, and a glimmer of a smile graced Severus' features also. They understood, right enough.

The Room of Requirement stretched out before them, about half the size of the Great Ha!l below. A single window, set high on the facing wall, sent the dawn radience down the centre of the room, creating an aisle of light. The elves gathered in the shadows to either side. And that was it, aside from the three inches of dust on the floor, the millions of motes drifting in the air, the curtains of cobweb hanging from the blackened rafters. The scrufly rainment of the elves looked pertectly right here, as did her rumpled robes, and Severus' tattered ones. The blood that marred them seemed less a stain, and more a mark of honour. She smiled as a cobveb floated down to rest crookedly atop her head, a bridal veil. As they walked up the aisle, a cloud of glittering dust danced around them, lending an air of magic that mere spells could never achieve. They glanced at each other, then ran laughing along the beam of light. This occasion was one of joy.

The ceremony was simple, but eternal. They knelt, one hand in each others, the other held firmly by Dobby, their trustee. Smiling, he began. 'Do you choose each other, partners for life, complete in each other?1 Simultaneously, they answered. 'Yes.' Dobby nodded. Then be as one.' He released their hands, and Severus laid his over her heart, and she laid hers over his, 'Severus,' she murmured. 'Poppy,' he replied. Beneath their hands, twin silver glows appeared. Slowly, they grew, and formed, and then soared. A great hawk, and her own owl. They rose together, wingtip to wingtip, and gradually they slid into one another, joined forms encompassed by a white radience that eclipsed the dawn sun behind it. The nebulous form sank back to hang pulsing between herself and Severus, then it divided once more, and each beast rejoined its owner. Forever linked, forever whole. That was what the elves celebrated, the joy of the moment that so few achieve, the bonding of two souls, not only in duty, but in love.

Tn unity.


	7. ch6 Conditions

Ferretbouncer: this is the last ch before Moody shows up, so please keep reading.

Chapter 6

Conditions

For some reason he found himself pondering the sensation of dust motes drifting through him. He was unused to this form yet, still not quite able to accept that even something so forceless as dust could go right through him.

It didn't seem wrong to be thinking this. The celebration seemed as much of the moment as of the union. The elves around him chattered cheerfully, happy for the couple at the end of the room, happy for themselves for being there, and all unafraid to voice it. Three of them were currently chasing a laughing Remus around the room, stirring up clouds of dust. Poppy, her new husband's hand clasped firmly in her own, was following the game, shouting encouragement to both Remus and his raucous tormentors indiscriminately. Severus was talking animatedly to an ecstatic Dobby, who for some reason had chosen to perch on his shoulder. Looking at them, Albus had rarely felt such pride.

Remus collapsed on the floor, pinned at last by his persuers. He rolled around, laughing breathlessly as they tickled him without mercy. 'Stop ... stop...oh, stop!' Coughing in the dust, they rolled to a halt beneath him. Flushed and grinning, his arms wrapped companionably around his three playmates, Remus looked up at him with the air of a satisfied pup. 'Why so grim?' he asked. 'I know we've had a rough night, but we're alive. Well, you're not, but you get my point. Have some fun! It might be the last chance we have for a while.' Struck silent, Albus stared. Was it truly that simple? What a way to view life. Yes, the world is at war, yes, we may die, yes, we have already come within inches of it, but we're alive now, so lets celebrate. He looked up, and met Severus' knowing gaze. He smiled, nodded to Remus, and turned to his ghostly companions. 'So. What does a dead man do for fun around here?'

It was an hour before some semblance of order descended on the place. After congratulating the newly-weds, the house elves moved out, save Dobby. They had a breakfast to prepare, after all. Fun was fun, but the job was the job. The Grey Lady and the Bloody Baron also made to leave. First, they approached the couple.

The Baron bowed, low. 'Severus, I must thank you. For your service to my house, to the children who have borne the title Slytherin, thanks to you with pride. You have served well a house that betrayed you. No better Head of House have we had. Our gratitude.' The Grey Lady moved in around him. 'For the school. For the life of Hogwarts that you helped sustain. For the students under your care, whom you have driven to achieve excellence. For the skills that you have imparted to help them survive. Our gratitude.' She smiled at Poppy. 'May you serve this woman, your love, as well as you have served us.' They retreated, leaving a somewhat stunned Severus in their wake.

'One more thing,' stated the Lady. 'Take care of Albus. He has offered us a long service, sustaining and defending this place through two and a half wars. He also has our gratitude. Do not abuse the power you have been given. It will destroy you.' Severus smiled bitterly. 'Well I know it. It has already destroyed two masters out of three, and the third shall soon follow. Rest assured, I shall not number among them.' They nodded gravely, and departed.

'Dobby, would you fetch some potions for me?' The elf nodded. Severus paused to think, running his eyes over himself and Remus. 'Two Blood Replenishing potions, blue label, and two Pepper Up, green label. I could use an extra, but an overdose in my condition would be unwise.' Poppy snorted. 'You think?' she muttered. 'Also, there's a small crystal vial in my hidden store. It will glow faintly when you touch it. Can you bring that also?' Severus continued, ignoring her comment. Dobby jumped up. 'Back soon!'

Once he left, Severus collapsed in the dust with a sigh. Poppy knelt beside him, a weary smile on her face. 'You would do better with some straight rest, you know.' He smiled wearily at her. 'Yes, but there are some things I must take care of first.' He beckoned Albus. For some reason, Albus felt the glimmerings of trepidation, and wondered if Severus had felt like that every time he had summoned him. He drifted over.

Severus looked up at him seriously. 'There are some things you must understand about your position. Things better illustrated with a demonstration. Alright?' Albus nodded. 'Spin in the air.' He blinked, but complied. 'Put your hand through my head.''What?' But the transparent limb already protruded from between Severus' eyes. 'Insult Remus. Say the most hurtful thing you can.'

Albus balked. 'No!' At once, though he had no body left to feel it, pain coursed through him. Mild stings raced up and down his limbs, slowly intensifying. He shook his head. 'No!' he repeated. A fresh wave, twice as strong, tore through him. 'Enough! I withdraw the command.' Panting slightly, Albus looked up at Severus. 'Compulsion to obey. Pain at refusal, intensifying the longer you hold out. The same for any order, from 'Drink up' to 'Kill yourself'. It doesn't change, and nothing you do can stop it, save obeying.' He met his former master's gaze squarely. 'That is what it means to be a slave.' Shaken, Albus looked away.

'To prevent this from occuring unnecessarily, there are certain ground rules I must put in place. To protect us both and prevent misuse of the bond. I won't permit that. Understand?' 'Yes,' Albus whispered. He blinked as Severus laid a hand over his. 'I'm sorry. I had to show you. I didn't know that this would happen, but now that it has, you must understand. I will do all I can to limit the effects of the bond.' Albus turned to him. 'I haven't been nearly as careful in my dealings with you as I should have been, have I?' His shamed admission was met with a smile. 'Compared to the other two, you were a walk in the park. Aside for annoyingly inane commands like 'Have a sherbert lemon'. You were obsessed with those things!' Albus smiled back, weakly.

Dobby arrived back just then, bottles and vials in his arms. The elf looked from one to the other warily. 'Everything is alright?' he asked. Severus nodded. 'Yes, Dobby. Thank you. Remus?' The werewolf approached cautiously, looking uncertainly at Albus. 'Oh, for gods' sake, hurry up man. No-one's going to bloody bite you! Here!' Severus thrust one of the green marked bottles towards him. Remus took it hesitantly. 'It's a Pepper Up potion, not a poison! If you don't trust me, trust Dobby!' the potions master snapped. Chagrined, Remus opened it and swallowed it down. Severus, meantime, downed the two Blood Replenishing potions and the other Pepper Up. For a moment, he stiffened, and his eyes crossed. Then he relaxed back into his wife's arms. The final potion, a crystal vial filled with a silvery fluid, he secreted in his robes. At least, he tried to, but there wasn't enough of them left. Dobby moved forward and grasped the fabric, muttering under his breath. The garments knitted themselves back up. Severus murmured his thanks, and finished stowing the potion.

He then looked back to Albus. 'You must treat any order I give you as a mere suggestion, to be obeyed or disobeyed as you see fit, without redress, unless I repeat it adressed to you. If you believe any order I give you would put yourself or one you would protect in danger, you must not act on that order until you have informed me of that danger. At any time, should you need to, you may hold your duty fulfilled, and pass the veil. I'll not hold you to this world. You are free, at any time, to act against me if you consider me a danger to others. You are free to protect your own existance above mine, and to persue your own agenda before mine. Should your existance, or that of anyone you would protect, become threatened in a way I can prevent, you must inform me. Act as you see fit, but attempt to keep me informed.'

He paused for breath. Albus felt the weight of the commands settle on him. Then he stared blankly as Severus repeated each and every command, finishing with Albus' name. He glanced around at their carefully blank expressions. 'No, I am not losing my mind. If I hadn't repeated them, you could have ignored the orders based on the first command. That's classic. Remember that. All commands are open to interpretation, within reason. Watch how things are phrased. Sometimes, a little pain for hesitating is worth it if you can weasel out.' He laughed at their considering expressions. 'I've been doing this for a long time. I know most tricks of the trade. I can worm my way around most things.'

He heaved himself up, aided by Poppy. He looked at Albus warily. 'What is it Severus?' 'Nothing. We should show Minerva that Remus is still alive. The Order too. Are ... are you coming?' Albus blinked. 'Of course. Why wouldn't I?' The other man shook his head. 'Nothing. It's just ... you always indicated that you wanted everyone to continue to function without you once you were dead. Appearing as a ghost would interfere with that. Do you wish to allow that?' The earlier hesitation was gone, replaced by the blank mask. This usually meant that Severus felt threatened, but why would the answer to that question constitute a threat? Yes, appearing thus would interfere, but it couldn't be helped. He had a duty ... Oh. _You may hold your duty fulfilled._ 'Severus, I have no intention of letting the Order harm you. Of course I'm coming. I know that you ... did not expect to survive. Ever since I ordered you to kill me, you must have been ...' He stopped as the implications of what he was saying struck him for the first time.

'Oh no. Severus, did you ... did you think that I meant for you to die?' Severus looked away, face hidden as the curtain of hair masked it. Horror clawed through his questioner. 'You did, didn't you!' Albus moved towards him, hands instinctively raised beseechingly. 'Why? Why would you think that? What have I done? Severus? Please. Tell me. Severus?' Severus backed away. Poppy moved between them. Desperate, Albus ignored her. 'Severus?' Shoulders hunched, the man finally turned to face him. 'It's nothing. Don't worry about it. It's fine.' Fury touched the ghost. 'How can you say that? It's not fine!'

'Severus,' came Poppy's voice behind him. 'Severus, not everyone thinks of you like that. Not everyone views you as a thing, a tool. I really don't think Albus thought it through that way. I imagine he was a bit preoccupied with the fact that if you didn't kill him, the Unbreakable Vow would have killed you. Although it was foolish of him, to say the least, to order you to do something like that without giving you a way to come back, I don't think he was trying to get you killed. I think he was trying to save you.'

Albus had never felt more gratitude towards the woman. He watched Severus carefully as the man looked from one face to the other, seemingly confused. His heart ached for him. 'Perhaps you shouldn't have given me so much leeway, Severus. If I had been in your position as long as you have, I'd leap at the chance to pay my masters back.' The other man's head swung up, and Albus backed away at the hatred that blazed in his face. It was the look that had commanded fear from even Fenrir Greyback on the Tower. 'Oh, don't worry about that. They will pay. I'm only sorry Lucius had to die to free me. There are quite a number of things I would like to show that man the other side of.' His voice was a low, venemous hiss, echoed by a more breathy one from his wife. 'Oh yes! I wanted to hurt that man as only a healer knows how! I wanted to show him exactly what he messed with.'

Albus and Remus looked at each other in consternation. It was apparent why, for a generation of students, Severus Snape had been one of the most feared professors in the school. When he decided to go for intimidating, he got it. To calm things down, and also to get further confrontations out of the way as soon as possible so they could rest, Albus motioned towards the door. 'Shall we?'

It felt odd, to be heading to his former office as a supplicant, not the resident power. Although he was not a man afflicted by vainglory, still he had grown used to his position as Headmaster and leader. He supposed that little vanity had not been helped by Severus' use of his address as a subtle reminder that Albus was his master, and the only one he was truly loyal to. However, he was confident that Minerva was a more than competent Headmistress. He did not mind admitting that there had been times when her fierce, steady presence at his side had been the only thing to keep him going. No doubt that same presence now sustained a school burdened by loss and imminent threat of attack.

Behind him, Remus and Poppy tramped steadily along. Severus had taken one look at the hike expected of him, and opted to levitate himself along. Albus smiled to himself. Although the action showed how resourceful the man really was, and, more disturbingly, the level of injury and exhaustion he had sustained, at the same time there was something undeniably funny about the sight of the proud, dignified man bobbing along the corridor like a cork in water. He swallowed the grin as the dark eyes unerringly found his face, some instinct for mockery drawing them to find the source. It would not do to laugh in the man's face.

They mounted the stairs to his ... Minerva's office. Poppy gave the password to the gargoyle, a more restrained and respectable affair that his usual culinary fancies. '_Parley_' had a certain gravitas lacking in '_cockroach cluster_'. He acknowledged that Minerva would not feel the need to indulge herself in his eccentricities, nevertheless he was surprised by Severus' heartfelt sigh of relief, followed by a declaration of '_Finally! A sane Headmistress!_' He had no idea that severus harboured such a dislike for sweets. It passed understanding.

On reaching the door to the office, he was assiled by a distressing sense of displacement. Through it came the sound of two voices: Minerva's and ... his own. Of course! The portrait. Well, this was going to be interesting. Leaving the knocking and door-opening to those who were still capable of the feat, he ghosted on through.

'Good morning, Albus,' greeted the portrait. He replied in kind. Minerva, caught between the two of them, looked confused only for a moment, before sitting down with a sigh. ''Hello, Albus,' she said. 'I hadn't realised you'd returned. Welcome back, I suppose.' He smiled down at her. 'Hello to you too. Why the lacklustre greeting?' Suddenly, she surged upwards. 'Because there's not much to welcome you back to! Harry's left, Remus is missing, the Order's in uproar, and now you ... _that_ you,' she pointed to the portrait, 'tell me about the arrangement with Severus _months_ after I could have done something about it! I tried to tell the Order, but they wouldn't believe me! They wouldn't even believe you! And now Severus is dead, Remus is probably dead, you're _definitely_ dead, Alastor's going militia, gods know where Harry is, and I'm sitting here trying to hold the school together whilst watching it all go to hell! I'm sorry if I'm unable to summon suitable enthusiasm!'

Albus waited while she composed herself. 'Minerva, I'm sorry if I sounded flippant. I know things have been difficult for you ..' she laughed histerically at that, 'But I've good news. I ...' He was interupted by the arrival of the others. Minerva leapt up, wand in hand, as the door slammed open. Severus, flanked by Poppy and Remus, wasted no time. '_Accio wand!_' As soon as the offending item was safely in his hand, he strode over to her desk, and calmly handed it back. 'Thank you for that summary of events, Minerva. However, you're wrong on a number of counts. Neither myself nor Remus are dead, and hell is a long way off yet.' Smiling, he caught the stunned woman as she she dropped, and eased her back into the chair. 'Now, take it easy. No need to panic.' She stared at him incredulously, then looked around, at an apologetic Remus, a sympathetic Poppy, at himself, both versions, grinning like the madman he undoubtedly was. She dropped her head into her hands. 'It's going to be one of those days, isn't it?'


	8. ch7 MemoriesI

Finally, as advertised: Alastor Moody. Next three chpts are basically one divided into 3 parts, so they'll all be in Moody's POV.

Chapter 7

Memories I

Madeye looked around the sitting room at Grimauld Place. Those members of the Order who had been available when Minerva firecalled: Shacklebolt, Arthur, Molly, Bill and Nymphadora; were gathered in a semicircle at one end of the room, facing the door, wands at the ready. There had been something odd about the call. Minerva had seemed flustered and nervous. Although Hogwarts security had been increased exponentially since the Headmaster's murder, it was still possible that someone had gotten to her, and were using her to attack the Order. If so, then they were in for a rude awakening. Nobody infiltrated the Order, not since that traitor left to rejoin what had been his side all along. They wouldn't be fooled again.

The door creaked cautiously open, and all present were instantly on alert. Slowly, hands raised placatingly, Minerva entered the room. She moved to the centre, facing Moody directly. 'Minerva?' he growled. 'Alastor, you're not going to like this.' He grunted. That was a given. 'Remus has returned,' behind him, Tonks gasped, 'and he has brought some friends with him. Some old friends.' Madeye had a feeling that he knew where this was going. He'd been on his toes around Minerva ever since she and Dumbledore's portrait had taken to proclaiming that bastard Snape's innocence, concocting some crackpot theory about slavery. He respected them both, but their blindspot with regard to the Slytherin had cost the Order too much already. If, as she said, he wasn't going to like this, then one of Minerva's 'old friends' was going to be a smug, greasy traitor with ice in his veins and a penchant for murdering those who trusted him. Well, if he had indeed found the arrogance to return to them after what he had done, then he would be well welcomed. Alastor could use some target practice, and Tonks was behind on her interogation studies.

He smiled, if that's what you could call such an expression, and motioned towards the door. 'Well, bring them in till we have a look-see, then.' She looked at him searchingly, but he'd had decades of hiding his intentions in the beaurocratic maze of the Ministry, and gave nothing away. She nodded. 'Remus?'

The mouse-coloured man entered, an arch to his back, head forward agressively. Alastor wouldn't have been surprised if all the hairs on the werewolf's neck were standing on end. It was full moon, and the man's animal instincts were in overdrive. The suspicion and hostility in the room must have been making him extremely nervous. He stopped inside the door, head turning to each of the Order members in turn, like a wolf testing the air. Alastor saw the flash of warmth directed at Tonks, the recognition that said mate. Once the wolf in him had apparently been satisfied that none here constituted an immediate threat to it, Remus came fully into the room, moving to stand, not with Tonks. as would be expected, but with Minerva. Oh yes, there was confrontation coming, all right.

He was followed in by Poppy Pomfrey. Alastor's nerves jangled at the sight of her, as they always did. It was nothing personal, indeed it had nothing to do with the woman herself at all. It was simply that her presence usually meant that one of theirs was hurt, or dead. The sight of the matronly nurse with her brisk movements always incited an almost parental worry in him, a feeling that he would emphatically deny if asked. Her presence here did not bode well.

On her heels came the first true shock of the day: Albus Dumbledore. Not that damned portrait, but the spectral remains of the deceased Headmaster. Goddammit, one of Minerva's 'old friends' was Albus bloody Dumbledore's bloody _ghost_! Of all the ... Well, now it was official. Snape was here. The only reason Dumbledore would have to come back would be if Harry needed him, or if he felt the need to act on his misplaced, but powerful, loyalty to the dispossessed Slytherin. Since if the former were true, he'd be off wherever the boy was, the latter must be the case.

He held up a hand to halt the explanations brimming on their lips, and called off through the door. 'Well, Snape? Are you going to stop skulking around and show us your traitorous face? We haven't got all day.' He was answered by a wry chuckle. 'Ah, Moody. Alert as ever, I see,' came the silky baritone. Alastor hefted his wand, grinning in anticipation. As the dark figure entered, he fired off a Stunner, expecting it to be blocked. He wasn't disappointed. A gesture on his opponent's part, and the spell dissipated. The expected retaliation wasn't forthcoming, however. 'I see the old Auror reflexes are sharp as ever,' Severus smirked. 'Oh, aye. The Death Eater ones seem to be alive and kicking also. Pity you lack the spine to retaliate.' The dark eyes glittered as they met his mismatched ones unfazed. 'Of course, after events seventeen years ago, you are quite familiar with my anatomy, aren't you, Madeye?' came the silibant answer. Wand to hand, they squared off. 'Care to try for a repeat performance?' the traitor mocked. They both ignored the attempts to intervene. Seeing his opponent's apparent willingness to 'duke it out', Alastor called up a dueling circle to prevent more substantial interference. A gesture on Snape's part, and a silencing charm also surrounded them. Ready.

Alastor took the first move, an _Incarcerous_. Chains, reminiscent of those used to bind prisoners for trial, shot out of his wand. Snape merely smirked, and ducked smoothly underneath the shot. As the chains rebounded off the circle's shielding, he caught them and tossed them back contemptuously. With a disgusted wave of his wand, the Auror dispatched them. He fired off a round of Stunners in sequence, designed to catch attempted dodges. His enemy cast a wandless _Protego_ that manifest as an onyx wall. The Stunners bounced off, useless. As the shield came down, Alastor cast a rapid _Capre Blessure_, one of the nastier curses in the Auror repetoire, designed to incapacitate through appalling pain. Alastor had been on the recieving end once. Not pleasant. Snape apparently had too, for he knew the appropriate counter-curse. The _Capre_ fizzled out. Moody braced for retailiation, but the other simply smiled and waited. Frustrated, Alastor launched into a brutal series of curses and hexes, all of which were deflected, disarmed, or dodged. Panting, Alastor took a moment to recover. In that moment, Snape acted, not magically, but physically. He darted across the circle, and caught the upcoming wand hand.

Madeye was momentarily stunned, but the reflexes kicked in, and a vicious struggle ensued. But Snape had been prepared for it, while the Auror had not, and after some minutes spent grappling, Alastor found himself pinned against the shield, arms held above his head, legs tangled, and the traitor's sweaty face in his own. Mentally berating himself, _constant vigilance_, Alastor waited. Then Snape dipped his head to one side, resting it against Moody's pinnioned arm. He began to speak, low and quiet, into his captive's ear.

'Alright Moody, you've had your fun. Now, listen.' Fury rose. 'I'll not listen to anything you have to say, you...' He was cut off by an exasperated sigh. 'Shut up,' said Snape, conversationally. 'I'm tired. I'm beyond tired. I'm exhausted, drained. I've no strength left for this, physical or magical. In fact, I'll probably collapse in a few moments.' Moody sneered. 'Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?' 'No. You're supposed to listen. Albus and Minerva have both spoken to you already, but it's obvious from your reaction to me that you don't believe a word of it.' Alastor shifted, testing his captor's strength. It held. 'Should I believe?' Snape laughed. 'On current evidence? The word of a distressingly loyal, possibly senile old codger, and a woman so loyal to him that more than once she has let her own opinions slide in favour of his? Be serious. However, that testemony in tandem with some hard evidence ... ?'

Alastor held very still as he thought it through. The bastard knew him too well. The points he laid out echoed his own thoughts too closely. But the man knew Auror thinking, Auror methods. He was aware that they knew that traditional interogation techniques wouldn't work on him. Veritaserum was right out. Using a potion on a potions master? The Ministry's most expert Leglimens had drawn a blank.Torture had also failed to gain results. Dammit, the man hadn't even screamed. He had severly distressed some of the younger Aurors at the time. So...

'What evidence?' If he hadn't been monitoring his captor so closely, he might have missed the the tension that eased slightly in the taunt frame ranged against him. The head came up, and dark eyes met his. Eyes clouded with exhaustion. With pain. A ruse, undoubtedly. From this man, always a ruse. But a damn good one, that was for sure.

He hadn't known what to expect next, but it wasn't what he got.Snape released him, stepping back, stumbling. He recovered, but was shaky on his feet. He reached into his robes. Immediately, Alastor was on him, seizing his wrist. The man looked at him, had the audacity to roll his eyes. 'It's a small vial. It contains memories, mine, that will verify Albus' claims. Evidence. You may test them for tampering if you wish. If you can wait until I regain consciousness, I would view them with you.' _Bet you would._ 'If not, do not view them alone, for your own sake.' Alastor blinked at that. 'For _my_ sake?'

Snape looked up at him. The spy was swaying, barely able to stay upright. From the unfocused look in his eyes, Alastor guessed that he was indeed about to collapse. His precarious position aside, the man was in no condition to be concerned about others. Then he said one word that made Alastor's heart freeze in his chest, almost dropping him to his knees. 'Maria,' Snape whispered, and crumpled.

He lowered the shield. Two seconds later, Poppy leapt past him to gather Snape into her arms. She stood, cradling the grown man against her as another would hold an infant. She glared at the stunned expressions ringing the room. 'It's not hard to lift someone when they're little more than bones!' she spat. Most, himself included, were confused by her aggressive display, but Molly Weasley stepped into the breach. 'Poppy? Is there something you haven't told us?'

Poppy smiled brightly, like the glitter of smashed glass. 'Oh, nothing much. Only that Alastor has just duelled my already badly injured husband into collapse on our wedding night. Not a great start to the honeymoon, wouldn't you say?' For the second time in as many minutes, Alastor felt as if someone had kicked him in the stomach. Molly opened her mouth to say something, but he couldn't help cutting across her. 'Husband?_ Him?_' She turned to him, a venomous expression on her face. 'Why, yes, Alastor. Him. Severus Snape. Why? Does that make me a traitor too? Hmm? Do you think I'm a Death Eater now as well?' She snarled in frustration. 'Oh, I don't care! I'm taking him to lie down. After _this_ little circus, he'll need to recover.' She stalked towards the door, but Molly caught her shoulder. 'Poppy, wait,' she said quietly. 'We're sorry. Congratulations. Here, let me help. Take him up to the second floor bedroom, and I'll bring us up some hot chocolate.' She smiled warmly, and Moody could see Poppy smile warily in response. 'Alright.'

He left HQ, leaving all off them behind. He needed to think, badly. These events had shaken him, more than he could allow the others to see. Aside altogether from the fact that his solitary prey was suddenly a married man, there was the matter of how he had discovered _that_ secret. How could he have known of them, of Maria? Hell, not even Albus knew of what had happened.

He sat down on a bench in a quiet park in Muggle London. He was alone. Looking down at his hands, he studied them, their pattern of scars, marks left behind by three wars. He had plenty of scars, and he kept them, allowed them to remain visible where others would disguise them. Many people assumed that he took a warped delight in the reactions of others to his physical appearance. In reality, he didn't give a shit what he looked like, because he had learned that no physical pain, no disfigurement, could matter as much as the holes left inside by loss. Those were the real scars of war, the true marks left on people's lives.

The crystal vial glowed softly in his hands, looking absurdly delicate. He hadn't been aware of taking it out. Gently, he rubbed it, watching the movement of the silvery substance inside. Memories. Such elusive things. Hideous, terrifying, links to a past that you couldn't escape, yet precious, because they held fleeting glimpses of lost times when so much had seemed possible. Their pain, bright and new every time you looked at them afresh, couldn't halt the lure, of seeing again the faces of those lost or changed, of living again, for brief moments, the rhythms and dreams of long ago times. Memories.

He remembered, all right. He couldn't ever forget. The first time he'd met Liza, so bright and joyous, laughing as she tossed back a toast to Grindlewald's destruction, giggling wickedly as she lured the young, serious Auror onto the dance floor of a back-alley Bavarian pub. He remembered the suggestive way she'd shymied against him, the chaste kiss she'd planted on his cheek for contrast. He remembered three glorious nights together, her smoky brown eyes full of life as they met his. He remembered sorrow of parting, letters, full of simple sentiments, finding their way from shady hand to shady hand, tracking the course of missions across the length and breadth of Europe. He remembered the news, ten months after he'd left her, of a child, a baby girl with her mother's smoky eyes, and her father's stubborn chin. Maria.

He remembered Grindlewald's death, cheering Albus Dumbledore as the hero of the age, the elation of going home, of seeing Liza, of meeting his five-year old daughter for the first time. He remembered their finally getting married.

And he remembered that day, returning home from a brief recon mission to flush out one of the remaining dark groups, to be greeted by burned houses, mangled bodies, the stench of blood and decay. He remembered the paniced run for home, to check on his wife, his child. He remembered the sight of them, outside the blackened shell of what had been their home, tossed aside like broken dolls. Even then, and how he hated himself for it, even then his instincts had kicked in through the horror and grief, alerting him to the presence of an enemy.

She'd been good, Liza. Even though her speciality among the resistance had been information, not assault, she'd been good, getting her shots in in defense of her family. He'd torn the survivor's mind apart, there in front of their bodies. He'd seen their ruin, their defilement, their torture, through the eyes of a semi-conscious Darkling. He'd watched as his little girl was raped and murdered, as his wife suffered for her courage before death. And never, ever again had he entered another's mind.

He'd buried them together, Maria cradled in Liza's arms, in a forgotten glade deep in the Black Forest. The villagers had been massacred, the invaders rounded up and executed not long after. There'd been no-one left to remember them, save him. No-one left to mourn the loss of such bright lives.

For unknown moments he sat in that Muggle park, tears falling silently and unheeded. He absorbed again the overwhelming grief. Then, efficiently, he turned it off, slipped it back in it's box. He turned his thoughts back to the case at hand. How had the man known? He weighed the vial in his hand. _I would view them with you._ He didn't trust Snape, didn't particularly like the man. After such an act of betrayal as murdering Dumbledore, he certainly didn't deserve any leeway. But that wasn't what it came down to. He didn't venture into the minds of others, and memories, no matter whose they were, were precious.

He nodded, desicion made. Resolve firm, he put the vial back in his pocket, and headed back. He would wait.


	9. ch8 Memories II

Hi folks! Sorry it's taken so long to update. The next ch will probably take even longer. Combo of study and a bout of writers block. Damn it all to hell! Anyway. This ch is just a filler, really. Just a bit more background on Moody and Snape. Still, enjoy!

Disclaimer: Don't own, so don't sue.

Chapter 8

Memories II

Ignoring the dirty looks Molly and Remus sent him over the next couple of days, Moody settled in to wait for Snape's wakening. A week's leave had been arranged with the Ministry. He wasn't going anywhere until he and Snape had their little talk. Albus and Remus seemed similarly inclined, though obviously not for him. Poppy spent all her time with her comatose husband, and that was understandable. Alastor had walked by the room a couple of times, theoretically in search of a bathroom, though he doubted anyone here would be fooled by that. He'd been surprised, though, by what he'd seen. The bed had been removed, and the patient was sound asleep in an armchair, watched over by a similarly ensconced Healer. He was apparently fed using a Muggle contraption called an IV. Alastor decided that he really didn't want to know the toilet arrangements. Around them, life in the Order went on, barely disrupted despite the shocks of the last few days. Alastor couldn't help but feel proud, at that.

Four days later, the source of the controversy walked into Moody's room, still pale, still skeletal, still sneering. Once the room had been secured and soundproofed, though, he dropped the sneer and sat cautiously opposite Alastor. They sat in silence, two predators warily assessing the opposition. Slowly, carefully, Alastor set his wand and the vial on the table between them. Snape nodded, and removed his outer robes, laying his large delicate hands flat on the table. 'So,' he began. 'What next?' They both looked to the liquid memories softly shimmering in the centre. 'I haven't viewed them yet,' Alastor stated quietly. Snape looked up in surprise. 'Thank you,' he offered. Moody nodded. 'Before we look, I have a question ...' Snape forestalled him. 'Maria,' the spy stated. Alastor nodded, struggling to swallow his anger at the casual use of her name.

Snape turned his head, looking off into the distance. 'I am a spy,' he began. 'The best. I collect information. It's how I have survived, in part. Over the years, I have become adept at accessing hidden, forbidden, or unconventional information, without alerting anyone. I am also, though only two other people know this, the foremost British magical praticioner in the fields of Potions and mind-magics.' All this, he stated calmly, not boasting, merely stating facts. Then he turned back to Alastor. 'Twice, I have entered your mind.' Alastor stared. The bile rose in his throat, and he considered throttling Snape. The traitor had looked at ... looked at _them_ through Alastor's eyes, had laid his Death Eater eyes on Liza and Maria. His hands clenched convulsively.

'No,' the other man said quietly. 'Not that. I know too well what it is to have only your memories. I would never violate another like that. Those two times, I was in search of your plans for me, once seventeen years ago, again when the Dark Lord re-emerged. But I found something the first time that made me wonder.' He looked at Moody appraisingly. 'Although you were more than willing to punish me for my crimes, to 'interogate' me, there was something else in the back of your mind. Not reluctance, but ... regret. Old sorrow. Hate, not for me specifically, but for my kind, Death Eaters and their older manifestations.' Alastor sighed. Snape continued remorseless. 'You were an enemy, against me no matter which side of the line I walked, so I felt justified in plumbing the depth of this potential weakness. Once Dumbledore came to release me, I began to research you.' He flashed a quick smile of approval at Moody. 'You are quite talented at concealing your tracks. Unfortunately, not as good as I am at finding them. I found the Ministry record of your early assignments as an Auror, in Germany not long after the beginnings of the Grindlewald wars. The record of the date you dropped off the radar, only to emerge again seven years later, scarred and grim. Taking these dates, approximate locations, I referenced them against Dumbledore's notes on the prototype Order, missions, codenames. Orion. The German agent. I tracked your movements against those of Grindlewald's Darklings, to see who you would have met to poison you view. I found no-one specific, but I did note that after Grindlewald's defeat, and a year before you reappeared at the Ministry, you shook off the Order near a town that, not long after, was destroyed by a leftover band of Darklings.'

Alastor watched the spy as he he ran through the recounting. He sat still, only his head moving as he focused on the report. The hands stayed placed on the table, eyes blank, focused inward. He seemed oblivious to the fact that he was citing information he should never have been able to get access to, all to an Auror and a member of the Order, both institutions he had betrayed. Despite himself, he couldn't help the twinge of admiration towards the spy. Snape had guts, and talent, undeniably. He wondered how Albus had felt, listening to these reports.

'Some six months later, I recieved holiday time while Lucius was busy abroad, freeing my to do some on-site investigation.' Lucius? Malfoy? What did he have to do with anything? 'I visited the remains of that town. It had been well and truly destroyed, and was long abandoned by the time I visited. But someone was still there. A hermit, a madman.' Alastor tensed. It couldn't be. The bastard had been to far gone to have survived that long. 'I tracked him to the remains of a house at the end of the main street.' There! He'd been living there! In their home! In Liza's home! 'A Darkling. Or what was left of one. He was quite mad. When you tore through his mind, you ripped it apart. All he had left were his years as a hermit, and the memory that you had searched for.' Snape looked him in the eye. There was no sympathy, no pity on his face, only careful understanding. For some absurd reason, this comforted Alastor. He wanted no-one's pity.

'The grave was grown over. Moss and wild garlic. That seemed appropriate. Maternal love, and strength with courage. Did you know that? It's an old, old meaning, from mediaeval earth magic. The stubborn endurance of moss as it holds to home and family, the sturdy strength and courage to bloom in adversity of garlic.' He looked away, to allow the old Auror the tears he couldn't hold back. 'The earth you chose to hold your loved ones grew to know them well. I planted a slip of rosemary, though, for remembrance. Everyone should have someone to remember them, even a stranger who only knows that they lived, and were loved.' He fell silent, letting Alastor compose himself. Alastor stared at his clasped hands as he struggled to do so. He wasn't alone. Someone else knew of them, knew of his lost family, and for some unknown reason seemed to care. _Rosemary, for remembrance_. _Everyone should have someone to remember them._ He hadn't realised how much it had hurt him that no-one had seemed to know or care that a vibrant young woman and her tough little girl, his _wife and child_, had been abused and killed so brutally. Now that someone did, he didn't know how to deal with it.

'Why should you care?' he asked harshly. 'They were none of yours, traitor. They were no-one's, save mine. Why should you care for my forgotten loved ones?' The other man looked at him, sadness and wisdom in eyes that should have been too young to hold them. 'It doesn't matter whose they were. No-one should be forgotten. _No_ child should pass the veil to leave the world unknowing. There should be someone to mourn the passing, to remember that life existed. I set out to know you. Standing over that grave, I understood you, a little. You hold fierce loyalty to the Order. You strive to protect them as you couldn't protect the ones you lost. For hurting them, you would destroy me as surely as you destroyed that Darkling. You are someone I respect. And Liza and Maria, people to remember as I remember my lost Slytherins. Ever yours, but mine too, because I know of them. I looked on their faces, witnessed their passing. Maybe that's not something you can understand. Maybe it hurts you to have someone like me lay claim to their memory, and for that I'm sorry. But I cannot, _will_ not change what is an integral part of me. I care, because they were lost.'

Alastor stared at him, stuggling to find again the hate that he had always harboured for the slippery spy, the hurt that should be there for his family's discovery, but couldn't. He didn't know what to think anymore, what was true. He didn't know this man, he realised, and he needed to. He needed to know the mind that held their memory. And he had been given a way to do that. Nodding, he stood. Snape rose with him. 'Shall we?'

Alastor led the way out of the room, heading downstairs. There was a pensieve in the kitchen, though only he and Molly Weasley actually knew that. When it came to household items, you just couldn't fool Molly. Everyone else seemed to think that the 2ft diameter stone bowl was some sort of heavy duty casserole dish. Hah! Talk about hiding in plain sight. Snape walked to his right, and slightly behind him, an excellent defensive position. He was beginning to get the measure of this new Snape, and the caution with which the spy was moving indicated that the effects of whatever had driven the man to collapse were still troubling him. Now that he took the time to study him, he really didn't look well. To tell the truth, he'd seen five year olds carry more weight than the man currently had on his bones. A slight clumsiness in the way he moved the left arm indicated that it had been damaged recently, and his whole stance was stiff. Alastor was surprised that Poppy had let him up.

As he reached the ground floor hallway, he got an answer to his musings in the form of a blasted _Impedimenta_ that threw him across the hall. Beside him, Snape immediately swung to face the threat, hands raised defensively. 'ALASTOR MOODY!' an incensed Poppy shrieked as she bore down on them, an extremely flustered Remus Lupin in her wake. 'RELEASE MY HUSBAND AT ONCE!' Alastor backpedalled hurridly. Faced with that fury, _dragons_ would have retreated.

Snape moved in front of him, hands raised placatingly. 'Poppy, wait. I can explain ...' Her furious shriek at this caused even the redoubtable Mrs Black to fall silent in recognition of a greater talent. 'You can _what_! You did it again, didn't you! You snuck out again! How am I supposed to heal you if you won't STAY PUT!' Snape moved forwards to try and calm her, and Alastor's estimation of his courage went up. 'You think I don't know what those BASTARDS did to you! Did you think Remus wouldn't tell me!' Moody felt a swell of pity for the cringing werewolf. 'You nearly DIED! If Albus and his bird hadn't shown up, you'd have never woken up in that forest. I cannot lose you again, do you hear me? I can't ...' She trailed off brokenly. Snape put his arms around her and rocked her gently. Head buried against his chest, she murmured 'I can't lose you again. I'll die to protect you. You know that, right?' Snape rested his cheek atop her head, tears falling silently. Alastor looked away, guilt and old grief rising within him. 'I know it, Poppy. I know. But you cannot blame me for trying to do the same for you. You can't blame me for trying to protect the only things in my life worth anything to me.'

She pulled back a touch, and studied him. She smiled, one hand reaching up to cup his face. 'Don't lie to me,' she whispered. 'And stop lying to yourself. If we're the only things you care for, why do you risk your life so readily for others? For the Order? The students? Even Draco, the son of that offspring of a Dementor who started all this? Stop lying. You don't have to be that cold, unfeeling bastard anymore. You can be yourself.' He stared at her, silent, hand clasped over hers. He trembled.

Poppy turned her attention to Alastor, who shifted nervously. 'I know what you're doing now. I know what you want from him. Understand this. When you are done, when you have found him innocent, which you will, he will be coming back to me. I am going to heal him, and neither you, nor anyone else, are going to stop me. Are we clear?' He nodded. There was little else he could have done. Gently, she disengaged from her husband and moved to the stairs. 'I'll be upstairs when you're done. Remus? You're coming?' It wasn't really a question. The werewolf got that too, and followed her up, out of sight. Gently, Alastor took hold of the shaken spy's arm. 'Come on. Lets get this over with.' Dazedly, Snape looked at him. 'How can she do that? How can she see it all, see all of me, and still understand?' Alastor sighed. This was not something he was comfortable explaining, especially to a man who was still a potential enemy. 'She loves you. That's all that can be said. Accept it. Enjoy it while you can. Remember every moment ...' 'Because in the end, memories may be all you have left?' Snape finished. Alastor nodded.

At Alastor's request, Molly left the kitchen to them, sliding her own warning in on Poppy's behalf. Alastor was beginning to feel put upon. If Snape's evidence didn't convince, he was going to have a hell of a time explaining that to everyone else. In four days, the spy had gone from hated outcast to pet project of half the Order. No wonder he'd been able to balance both sides for so long, with neither knowing for sure on which side of the line he stood. He hadn't stood on either. He walked the steadily narrowing line between them, and had to hope that when he fell, someone would be there to catch him. And it seemed someone was. Rather a lot of someones, actually.

'Would you rather we did this at the Ministry lockup?' came the mocking question. Instinctive, fury rose. But when he turned, the black eyes gazed at him steadily, deadly serious. The posture was stiff, rigid, daring him to attack. The mockery was as instinctive to the other man as fury to drown fear was for him, and seemed to serve much the same purpose. Snape feared the answer to that question, so he asked it as disparagingly as possible. Then, cautiously, he relaxed, and tried a tentative smile. 'How do you think I felt coming here?' Ah. There it was. Really, hating this bastard was a waste of time. It'd be like hating himself, and that was a hobby he'd given up on years ago. Images, segments of himself, enlarged and put forward to mask true intentions. Were the personas the spy put forward: snide potions master, impenetrable spy, unfeeling bastard; really so different from Alastor's own. Didn't he play the roles of paranoid old man, snarly senior auror, to the same effect? Dammit. So maybe the bastard wasn't evil. Maybe he was simply a man like himself, fighting to survive past the point where surviving really mattered. And it was time to get on with things.

He grunted. 'Do you really think they'd let us out the door? Poppy? Not a chance. Best just do it here, and be done. Then we can all get back to our lives, eh?' Snape smiled, and nodded.


	10. ch9 Memories III

Sorry it took so long to update, but this bloody chapter just would not work for me. Eventually I just decided to go with what I had, so be warned: this may not be exactly up to scratch. Hopefully, though, with it out of the way I can get back on track. Anyway, enjoy. By the way, to make things clearer, 'Severus' refers to young, memory Snape, while 'Snape' is the present-day version.

Chapter 9

Memories III

'Before we begin,' Snape commented softly, 'I would like to ... apologise, I suppose, for these memories.' They both looked to the swirling silver in the penseive. 'You must understand, I left these in Dobby's care to reveal should I ... meet an unfortunate end.' He laughed slightly, borderline hysterical, and Alastor felt a moment's true concern for what they were about to witness, and the effect it so obviously had on this man. 'I wanted ... I don't know ...' But Alastor did. '_Everyone should have someone to remember them?_' Snape glanced up, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes. He nodded. 'They haven't been edited. For _anyone's_ comfort.' 'Good,' said Alastor, shortly.

The scene was of what Alastor vaguely recognised as a Hogwarts bathroom. A young boy, about twelve, stood over by the sinks, scrubbing futilely at his robes. He kept up a vicious stream of invective during the process, damning one James Potter, and another Sirius Black, with inventive cruelty. Alastor snorted. 'Some vocabulary you got there, Snape.' The adult Snape looked over at him. 'Yes. A rather crude usage, but I was young yet.'

His younger self seemed utterly focused on his task, yet the moment the door slammed open he spun, wand held firmly in soapy hands. Lucius pulled back, hands raised defensively. Alastor was mildly impressed. The boy lowered his wand slightly to assess the intruder. 'Lucius,' he greeted coolly. The older boy stepped cautiously into the room. 'Severus,' he acknowledged. 'Look, I can see there's been trouble, but you need to listen to me. It's your mother!' 'What about my mother?' Severus answered calmly, but both Alastor and Lucius caught the flicker of concern. The blonde's expression softened slightly. 'Severus, I'm so sorry,' he whispered. Alastor sighed as realisation hit the boy, and wand and head dropped.

Neither he nor the young Severus were able to assimilate what Lucius intended before the boy acted, launching himself across the floor to latch onto the smaller boy. Alastor, Auror reflexes reacting to the sudden movement, lunged forward to intercept, but was pulled up short by a grip like steel on his arm. He looked up into the stony face of the adult Snape, and subsided, turning his attention back to the two boys.

Severus struggled wildly in his captor's grasp. Because of Lucius' position, he couldn't bring his wand to bear, and physically he was no match for the older, stronger boy. Lucius was muttering a string of spell-words, arms clasped firmly around his victim from behind, head poised over the right shoulder. As he spoke, a soft glow surrounded them, sourced in Severus' breast and extending to link the two. The dark-haired boy stilled, going rigid, and as the struggles ceased, Lucius opened his mouth and plunged his teeth into his captive's neck. Alastor yelled, leaping forward, but the arm that held him didn't budge. 'It's a memory, remember?' 'What is he, a damned vampire?' Alastor snarled. 'Watch,' Snape instructed.

Lucius pulled back, lips stained. He smiled. 'Your blood, mine. Your magic, mine. Your will, mine. I claim you, Severus Snape, all of you, mine to command, till death. Know your master, slave.' He released his victim, stepping back to watch as shudders of reaction shook the thin frame. As the black eyes slowly cleared, one hand reached dreamily up to touch the wound. 'What have you done, Malfoy?' Severus asked hoarsely. Lucius smirked. 'Exactly what I've said. And you will address me as 'master', slave. Show some respect.'

Alastor watched as the black eyes hardened, and the hands firmed around the wand. Grimly, he hoped the child would kill the bastard, but knew he couldn't. He knew of the slave bond. All senior Aurors did. There was no darker magic that the chaining of one will to another. 'Look away,' came a soft voice. Alastor ignored it. The hand around his arm firmed its grip. 'Look away,' Snape repeated. 'For Maria, look away.' And Alastor knew what was coming. Resolutely, he watched as Lucius moved in, as his daughter's torture was reinacted before him. And though his natural eye blurred with tears, the dispassionate gaze of its magical counterpart never wavered.

'Your mother?' he asked when it was done. Snape looked at him. 'Oh yes. She was dead. The Headmaster thought that my ... strange behaviour was due to shock and grief at her death. Quite clever of Lucius, really. Just in case, and all that. He had to be sure.' Alastor listened, and the urge to murder Malfoy grew powerful. The bastard should have been killed long ago. Though it was obvious now that they had not known _how _long.

Images blurred together, a lost child becoming a hard, determined man over years. Alastor watched Severus grow towards his twenties, walking in a world oblivious to his torment. He witness the construction of the man's unshakeable defenses, the iron hard will that formed the Order's spy. And, scattered among those early memories, touches of tenderness. A disguised friendship with a worldweary house elf. A fragile trust with a young healer. Glimpses only, but they eased Alastor's fearful heart.

Then came Voldemort. Then came the first upset of the fragile balance between master and slave. 'My Lord,' Lucius whispered reverently. 'My Lord, I've brought you a present.' Severus, nineteen now, knelt beside him, looking unusually well dressed. Alastor spat. 'He prettied you up to sell you on?' Snape looked at him wryly. 'That would be difficult. I'm not exactly pretty material. You have to give Lucius credit for talent. He did quite well with a bad hand.' Alastor snorted. He wasn't about to admit it, but Lucius hadn't done such a bad job. But more of the appeal was the air of damaged dignity that, even then, the spy had drawn around him like a cloak. Something undefinable about the reserved, calm figure drew all gazes. Not least the hungry stare of a younger, more human looking, Dark Lord.

'What a gift, yes, Luciusss.' A hint of the serpent, even then. Put on, perhaps, but with Nagini curled about his feet, one was inclined to let the deception go. You did not argue with the hunger in the red gaze, or the loving way the pale hands stroked the snake's head. Alastor shuddered. Even still, that gaze sent shivers through him. He'd had some nighthorrors after the first war, dreaming of that voice. What young Severus felt, kneeling there, knowing that that voice and those hands were his future ... The calm was really quite impressive.

Voldemort raised himself, and moved sedately towards the kneeling pair. A flicker of his eyes, and the other Death Eaters left. Alone with them, the Dark Lord stood over his new acquisition. One hand reached out and prisoned Severus' chin, raising the head. Red eyes stared down into expressionless black, and for a long moment, neither moved. Then a spark of defiance kindled briefly in the darker pair, there and gone again, and a faint smile touched thin lips. 'My Lord? Is something wrong?' Severus murmured silkily, subservient and respectful, yet with an undefinable air of mockery. And the Dark Lord laughed, rich and loud, and swooped down to crush the slave's lips in a vicious kiss. 'Severus,' he purred, drawing back. 'Yes. You will do, love.'

Alastor, sickened already by the implications of what had been said, did not watch the partial transfer of bond. He'd asked for evidence, and he was getting it, but damned if he was going to stare at every grisly spectacle. The flicker of scenes that passed now, glimpses of the Dark Lord's inner sanctum, frankly disgusted him. He flinched slightly as a hand landed on his arm. 'I did warn you,' Snape said softly. 'The Dark Lord's sex slave is not a pleasant position. I became quite talented, but it is not a skill I would advertise.' 'There's a word for what that worm is!' Alastor snarled. Lots of words, heard in the darkest alleys. Snape smiled sadly. 'There's a word for what I am, too.' _Whore_. The thought was unspoken, and Alastor rejected it out of hand. 'A slave is not a whore. A slave is a victim of rape. Don't say anything different.' A watchful silence, then the hand squeezed his arm in gratitude. Alastor resolutely did not look at his companion's face, allowing him time, returning an earlier courtesy.

Then a familiar image returned, and Alastor looked once again on the ancient majesty of Hogwarts. Nighttime, with a watchful moon, and a sillouetted figure standing still on the lawn. Severus' face was calm and composed, eyes hard and determined as he looked on the quiet keep. He gazed at the window of the Headmaster's tower room, and a wry smile flickered over his lips. Alastor tensed. So. This would be what Albus had hinted at. The young Death Eater's redemption. The birth of the spy.

Silent as the shadows he walked among, Severus moved into the school, determined and purposeful. He slipped up the warded stairs, and into the office of the waiting Dumbledore. Alastor smiled. No matter how stealthy the intruder, the school had always alerted its headmaster to incoming guests. Albus was seated behind his desk, sipping tea, watching the young man warily. 'Mr. Snape,' he greeted evenly. 'Headmaster,' Severus replied, bowing gracefully. Alastor stared, struck by the rightness of the gesture, despite its faint ridiculousness. Albus raised a surprised eyebrow, and gestured to a seat. Instead of taking it, Severus knelt in front of the desk, bowing his head so that his curtain of hair disguised his face.

Albus stood, now severly discomfitted. 'My boy, there is no need for that!' he exclaimed, moving to raise the young man to his feet. Severus' sure voice interupted his movement. 'Oh, but there is, Headmaster.' The subtle emphasis on the last syllable struck both Alastor and Albus. 'You can't mean to ...?' Alastor whispered. Snape smiled knowingly. 'Child, what do you mean?' Albus asked. Without answering, Severus slipped his left arm free of his robe, baring the dark mark. Sadness flashed across the Headmaster's face, but not understanding. 'Child?' he pressed gently.

Severus raised his head to look the old man in the eyes, a faint smile in his. 'I am a slave to the Dark Lord. I've come to offer you one of two things. When you understand, you may choose between them. May I speak?' Slowly, Albus nodded. Severus stood, and gestured to the same seat Albus had offered him. The Headmaster sat, a wary look on his aged face.

'I am a slave,' Severus repeated quietly. 'Do you know what that means?' He ignored Albus' nod. 'You don't. Not fully. It means I am bonded, blood, bone and magic, to the will of another. Two others, actually. I serve the Dark Lord, and Lucius Malfoy, with my body and my power. Anything they ask of me, I must give them, or die trying.' He watched as the horror grew on the old man's features. 'You understand now. Good. Then listen. What they have, I offer you. Do not speak! Listen. I serve them, yet my will is yet my own. I do not wish to continue this. I do not wish to allow them victory, so that they can bind others as they have me. To that end, I make my offer.'

He captured the other's gaze in his own, measured the will he found there. He nodded slowly. 'A portion of the bond, yours to command, to counteract in part what they would have me do, and to give you a foothold in their encampment. Or, should you dislike this choice, I offer the ready destruction of the body and magic that serves them. I surrender that to you, willingly. Take what you will from what I have. The others took me. You, I choose.'

Albus stared. Alastor stared. Such a great thing, to be offered so lightly. A soul, already wounded, already divided, offered up again to counter a sin it had not committed. A spirit, a will, bowed willing to another's purpose. And Alastor understood why Albus had so vehemently defended his spy. His slave. Such a great gift, such a great trust, could not be ignored. The obligation to repay, to guard what was given, was overwhelming. And yet, Snape didn't see it that way. He saw only that a tool had been offered, and accepted. He thought of himself as something to be used, not treasured. No wonder Albus was always so sad when Severus was mentioned.

As the scene faded, Alastor turned to his companion. 'Do you know what you are?' he asked softly. Snape ... _Severus ... _cocked his head to one side. 'Of course. Slave. Spy. Sacrifice, but willing. Your weapon, your tool.' Sadness washed over the Auror. So innocent, to see so much, and yet not understand. _Ah, child. How Albus must have loved you, and how much it must have hurt him. We cannot change what has been. But we can change what will be. _'No. You are comrade. Brother. Welcome back, Severus, to the Order of the Phoenix.' He smiled wryly. 'And I apologise for the belated nature of the welcome.'

He held out a scarred hand, mismatched eyes locked on their black counterparts. Counterparts that glistened for a moment, then lit with a rare warmth. A slender, bony hand was placed in his, and he clasped it firmly. 'Brother,' he murmured.

'Now, lets get back so I can grovel before your wife. We waste any more time, and she'll skin me before I can get a word out of me!'

AHHH! Finally! Note to self: DO NOT DO THAT AGAIN! Lsten to me. If you're going to have a memory sequence in a fic, break it up. Lump it together, and you get a dragging, confused mess of a chapter. IT'S NOT FUN! Sorry, but by gods did that take it out of me! By the by, last Moody ch for a while. Sorry, all Moody fans.


	11. ch10 Promises

Ok. Poppy's back, and in one hell of a bad mood. The Order should be giving her a wide berth... If only they were so smart. So lets play, boys and girls. Oh, and I apologize in advance for the language in this chapter. Normally, I don't approve of cursing at all, even in M-rated, but it was sorta necessary here. Sorry.

Disclaimer: HP not mine.

Chapter 10

Promises

The rustle of movement at the table alerted her to her husband's return. Poppy sat up in the chair, and watched hawklike as Severus and Madeye stepped shakily back from the pensieve. If Moody so much as looked at him funny ... But she needn't have worried on that score. She could see the easing of her husband's stance from here. An easing that would never have shown unless some element of trust was there. She smiled grimly.

'So. Alastor Moody. Are you satisfied of his innocence _now_?' Severus turned and granted her a weary but mischievious grin. Her heart leapt at the spark of hope in his eyes. _Alastor, if you've put that there, I'll even go easy on you. Hell, I might even forgive you._ She turned her raptor's gaze on the shuffling Auror, who bobbed as if ducking a spell. He obviously had gained a healthy fear of her. All to the good, since he was the one who determined Severus' future with the Order.

Alastor cleared his throat. She raised a questioning eyebrow. He shuffled once, then squared his feet and looked her straight in the eyes. A snide question caught in her throat at the sadness she caught there. 'No,' he said. 'I'm not satisfied.' Severus stiffened, and her hand slid to her wand. Moody's shoulders hunched slightly, but he continued doggedly. 'I'm not satisfied with things at all. I've just witnessed more brutality, more cruelty, than even I believed existed. And I am disgusted that we ... that _I _have participated in it. I have always been willing to do the "dirty work", to do things that others find distasteful. Now I find that not only have I been a rank amateur, but I have completely misdirected my zeal, and almost alienated one of the bravest and most loyal members of the Order. I ask your forgiveness.'

Her mouth was open, but she barely noticed. Grudging acceptance, she had thought possible, with luck and some well placed threats. This, she wouldn't have dared hope for. She turned to look at Severus, to see how he was taking this, and saw something very rare. Severus Snape, imperturbable man of mystery, completely gobsmacked. Abruptly, laughter bubbled up inside her, unstoppable and hysterical. She'd spent these past few days preparing for battle, ready to fight tooth and claw to defend her husband, and now that need was suddenly lessened. Now, she didn't have to hold herself so rigidly, and the shocked laughter just poured out of her.

In two seconds, Severus was across the room and by her side. He pulled her into a fierce hug, just holding as the shuddering laughter ripped through her and turned to tears. She was vaguely mortified, but she couldn't have stopped for the world. She'd thought she'd lost him, thought he'd finally succumbed to the horror that was his life, thought that he'd be brutalised no matter what side found him, thought she'd have to throw her meagre resources into a hopeless fight to save him, and now ...

'What makes you think your resources are so small?' he asked softly, and her panicked weeping halted in shock. She'd said that aloud? _All_ of that? 'Severus ... I don't ... I didn't ...' He shushed her. 'You have far more than you think you do. Do you know many times I wanted ... wanted to push my masters past safe limits, push them to do what they forbade me to do, and end my life? And doesn't that sound pathetic? Suicide by slavery. Hah!' She trembled. He tightened his grip around her. 'But I didn't. Never. Because you were waiting. Because you cared. Because even after ... even after Lucius discovered the darker pleasures, you didn't despise me. You didn't hate me for what I was.'

She pulled back to stare at him. She trembled still, but now it was from fury. 'Why the hell would anyone hate _you_ for what those bastards did to you? And why do you persist in thinking you're worthless! What do I have to do to drill it into your head that what I do is _not_ out of pity, not out of _duty_, but out of love!' He stared, and a tear trembled over his eyelid. 'I know,' he whispered. 'It was all that I had. It was the hope that brought my Patronus to life. And it's what I have now. It's what makes it so that I could fight my way out of here if I had to. Because _you_ are here. So don't ever think that _you_ are worthless either. Understand?'

She stared right back. 'Oh.' His mouth twitched. 'Oh?' She blushed. 'Nothing. I love you.' He smiled, slowly. But before she could steal that smile, Alastor coughed pointedly. Blushing, she pulled back from her husband, and turned to glare. Moody had the decency to look embarrassed. 'We should .. um .. we should call the Order together. Get the rest of the confrontation out of the way.' She had to laugh. The grisled old Auror looked like a boy caught spying on his parents. She nodded, smirking. 'Why don't you take care of that, then?'

Familiar faces, gathered around the room, staring at her husband, Moody, and herself. Poppy shifted self-consciously. Expressions ranged from confused (Dung), to supportive (Molly and Remus), to hardened (Shacklebolt), to downright hostile (Tonks). She was surprised by that. Surely Remus would have explained things to Nymphadora? But then, maybe he hadn't had the chance to. Moody and herself had kept the poor man rather busy lately.

Alastor cleared his throat. Gazes swung in his direction. 'I suppose Remus has filled some of you in?' He glanced around. 'Doesn't matter, really. But I've reviewed the "evidence" the boy brought. I've been through hell in a pensieve, and concluded ...' They leaned in eagerly. '...That Severus Snape is indeed innocent. Albus Dumbledore did indeed order him to kill him, and owing to being bonded to the old man, Severus had no choice but to obey. He is, and has always been, on our side.'

A moment's shocked stillness, then uproar. Albus rushed in to float ecstatically around Severus. Molly came over to clap her solidly on the shoulder, Kingsley's grim expression softened slightly, and Tonks strode forward to back-hand her husband across the face. Severus stumbled back, a red mark on his pale cheek.

Everyone froze. Herself and Remus moved to their respective partners, but Severus raised a hand, and they pulled back. Severus straightened, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. He turned to a trembling Tonks. 'Quite the strong arm you got there, Nymphadora. Care to tell me why you just used it on me?' Poppy saw him brace, not for battle, but for punishment. Of course, he wouldn't strike back, not here. Oh ... _shit_! Tonks squared up to him.

'You ... _you bastard_! How could you let it happen? If you were goddamn on our side, then why the hell did you let Remus get taken? You murdered Dumbledore, and then you let slip who Remus was, just like you let slip what he was at Hogwarts, so he wouldn't tell us where you were! You're on _their _side! Tell me I'm wrong! I dare you!' Remus looked striken. 'Nymph ...' She swung on him. 'Shut it Remus. He's not getting away with this!' 'Getting away with what?' Severus asked quietly. Poppy stiffened. There was that cold tone to his voice, that meant he was on the attack. A good offense is the best defense. He was angry.

'Well, Nymphadora? What is it you think I have done? Or failed to do? Do you know how he was taken? Do you know _why_?' She shifted. 'Of course not. He could never have borne to tell you. Remus would never hurt you that way.' He moved up into the young woman's face, cold fury marring his features. Poppy winced. 'But I'm not Remus. I am a murdering Death Eater, am I not? So I don't really feel any need to spare you.' Poppy grasped Remus' arm, stilling his involuntary jerk of reaction. He couldn't know that both were hurting. He couldn't see the pain riding beneath the anger in Severus' eyes. He only knew that his mate was threatened. But he couldn't interfere. Not now.

'Remus Lupin has been known as a spy for two months. They chose then to take him because of me.' Triumph flashed over Tonks' features, but faded at his next words. 'They needed a replacement toy, since the Dark Lord decreed that I die that night. For such open defiance as I had shown him, Voldemort could not let me live, but if I died, who would he have to play with?' His trademark sneer flashed, then faded into an expression of loathing, and fear. 'The Dark Lord wanted a fuck slave, a toy to chain to his bed and use whenever he felt the need. He wanted a living, writhing body to abuse, to torture. He wanted your mate on his belly under him, screaming and begging, giving him the pleasure of raw fear that I tried so hard to deny him. That in the end, I failed to deny him. And when your mate had screamed himself hoarse, when his body grew so used to the pain that it no longer struggled, when he had lived in fear so long that he could no longer hide it, when he had suffered so long that hope was forgotten, then the Dark Lord would have disposed of him as he did me. A broken toy is useless, after all.'

A ringing silence claimed the room. Tonks was so pale she looked bloodless, held up only by the painful grip Severus had on her arms. Remus wept softly, echoed by Albus' ghostly tears. For herself, her sadness couldn't be lessened by the fact that she had known, always, what he lived with. She could only watch as the pain tightened her husband's face, as the horror that lived in him rose in his eyes. She could only silently will him her strength, as she had done every time he left her to face the unending horror he had just described.

'Murderer you call me,' he continued softly. 'Murderer I am, for if we had failed, if I couldn't make it so that he could escape, then I would have killed your mate. I would have cast an unforgivable to end his life, rather than leave him there. I did the same for Albus, though none but I knew it. By the time I found out, it was too late, far too late, to find another way out. It was the only mercy I had to give. Do you understand?' He shook her, hard. 'Do you see? I have lived that life every day for the past twenty six years, and I will _kill_ to spare another that existence! I'll be your murderer, your Death Eater, your sacrifice, but I will never suffer to see another used so! I will never allow that to happen! If the Order is the best chance I have to prevent the Dark Lord from taking another, then I will be your goddamn slave, I'll live and die and fight to serve you, but I will not spare you should you fall! Do. You. Understand?'

Cautiously, Poppy moved forwards and gently pried his taunt fingers from the girl's arms. She wrapped his shaking form in a gentle embrace as Remus did the same for his mate. Severus bent his neck to bury his tearstained face in her hair. 'I promise,' he whispered softly in her ear. 'I will never let him have you. Never.' She closed her eyes in pain. 'Oh Severus. I know. I've always known. Hush. I understand. I understand.' And she rocked him, this fierce desperate child who gave so freely of a wounded heart, and loved him that little bit more.

A respectful distance was granted by horrified Order members. Many wept. Others, older, more versed in the horror of war, merely turned pained eyes away, to dwell on private horror. Albus, hovering near his old slave, gazed striken at his bowed head. 'Ah child,' he whispered. 'Ah child, I'm so sorry. I never thought for you, for what I asked of you. Severus, forgive me.'

The front door burst open, shattering the frozen tableau. A piercing scream filled the house, but it wasn't Mrs Black. It wasn't fury that drove it, but pain and terror, a girl's voice lifted in agony and fear. The Order spun to attack or defend as the sound grew closer, then froze in horror as a desperate Harry and Ron ran into the room, a struggling, screaming, terrified Hermione between them. Bloodied, clothes ripped, with identical expressions of desperate determination, the two boys opened their mouths to plead for help, and saw Severus.

Well, I thought it was about time the 'Golden Trio' showed up. And the Order needed to know exactly what Severus went through for them, and why. What do you think? R&R?


	12. ch11 Phoenix

Again, it's taken me ages to update. Sorry. But I'm back now, and here's chapter eleven.It's kinda short, but anyway. Enjoy!

Chapter 11: Phoenix

Pandemonium spread. Potter screamed something unintelligible at him, wand whipping out, Alastor moved in front of him defensively, various Order members moved to one side or the other, Molly ran towards her son, Poppy towards him, Albus called desperately for order, and above it all Granger's high pitched agonised screaming reverberated. Severus hastily drew himself in, calling up the calm of a mind-shield, and reached out towards the one being who could help.

A lilting, floating song flowed out from his lips, unnoticed in the din. But its answer could not be ignored. Flames roared into existence in the fireplace, fierce and golden. Lapping, more like water than flame, they flowed into the room, touching all present. Bathed in that warmth and light, the warring occupants turned to watch in awe as the great phoenix rose from the flames to rise above them, its song coming to bathe them as did the light. Only Hermione did not calm, but her screaming halted.

Shuttered behind his shield, a grey cloak to mask him, Severus watched the others emerge from the golden fog that flooded the room. Spirits answered the firebird's call, and auras came free to glow softly in the pulsing light. Alastor glowed a soft brown, tinged with the red of battle magic. Poppy was lit with a pale moon radience, as close to purity as he had ever seen. Harry shone bright orange, red of battle, yellow courage, shot through with deceptive green. For one moment, Severus let himself simply wonder at the beauty, the glory of spirit that phoenix song showed. Then he withdrew once more, and turned his attention to the wounded girl.

Hermione was sobbing, crying incoherently, in the throes of an agony too deep for even Fawkes' radience to remove. Her aura sputtered, the brilliant blue of intelligence shadowed by grey swathes. Centred low on her torso, a pulsing patch of evil red-purple snaked its tendrils through her, slowly spreading like a virus. A shudder of recognition shook Severus, bringing old fear. He knew that curse, knew its cause. It brought remembered agony to rip through him, but he knew how to heal it. Gods, that she had suffered it ...

Trusting that Fawkes would hold the others enraptured so they couldn't interfere, he moved to her side. The other two sides of the Golden Trio resisted, turning to stop him, but the phoenix fluttered to rest between them, brushing his wings against them to recapture their attention. Severus smiled gratefully at him, remembering when the phoenix had first enspelled him, soothing him to sleep in the Forbidden Forest when he was fourteen so he could be free from his master for just one night. He had never felt such gratitude to any being save Poppy.

As he touched the wounded girl, she shuddered, struggling weakly to get away. Her sobs increased, paired with mumbled pleas. He scooped her up, cradling her shaking form as gently as he could. The curse reached for his aura, drawn as if by an Accio spell to try and attack him. Of course, it would recognise him, its most prolific victim, but as ever his shield repulsed it. It writhed like a living thing, digging into Hermione's body. He had to eradicate it soon. Her resistance was strong to have held out so long, but he wouldn't bet on it lasting much longer.

He knelt, still holding her. It would be difficult. He had only ever attacked this curse when it infected his own body. It was a conscious effort of will to expell it, fueled by mind-magic, and it was painful. And even with it gone, the effects of the assault that seeded it would have to be dealt with. That had never been an issue with him, because his resistance had been established long before he had first encountered that curse. But for this child, it would be devastating.

He cupped her face in his hands, ignoring her heartwrenching pleas for mercy. Gently, he bent over her to rest his forehead against hers, and slipped like liquid into her mind. His shield drapped around both their auras, hiding his from all eyes but hers, and the curse that beseiged them.

Leglimency was a different sensation with each person, each link. He hovered yet on the edges of her mind, looking over the conflicting factions that fought for domination. The curse pulsed viciously, bearing down with increasing force on the worn blue that signified her spirit. She fought back, desperately, lashing out at the tendrils instinctively, but she lacked the co-ordination for a concentrated attack. Around the edges, the golden force of Fawkes' influence fought a rearguard action on the curse, but the nebulous peace phoenix aura offered couldn't fight such concentraed malevolence. Hermione was slowly losing the battle.

It was time he joined the fight. They hadn't noticed his presence yet, but that would change. His first task was to separate the curse from her dimming spirit. Then he could fight it himself, the way he had when it was he it had attacked.

He flowed deeper, a silver shadow, and touched her flagging mind. She recoiled, but he merely wrapped her in his presence, soothing as best he could, which wasn't much. He wasn't at home with comforting people, so he turned his attention instead to the enemy, firmly expanding his presence to force it back, detaching the clinging tentacles. It moved grudgingly, holding tenaciously to its victim, but he knew it, and it couldn't master his energy. He forced it away from the spirit he held, and turned its assault on himself. Then he attacked, shaping his mind into a blade, a silver beam of fire, cutting through the heart of the malignant force, burning through to reach the golden fire on the other side. The phoenix force responded, flooding the mind with peace, burning up the lingering remnants.

The part of him still in the physical world felt her spasm violently in his arms. He knew that the seed had been expelled, and that it had hurt her, as much as the rape that planted it had. He withdrew from her in sorrow, leaving the phoenix song to sooth her tortured mind, to guide her to rest.

He opened his eyes in the 'real' world, to a hesitant touch on the shoulder. The golden fog had gone, as Fawkes focused his healing power on Hermione, and the others were freed from its enthralling influence. He braced, expecting the assault that would throw him off her, as her friends rushed to her defense. But it didn't come. Startled, he looked up, into faces full of wonder. But that shouldn't be, as they were no longer bespelled.

Poppy knelt beside him. It was her hand on his shoulder. She met his confused gaze, a gentle smile on her face. Tears in her eyes, she embraced him, as Harry and Ron reverently lifted Hermione away. His arms tightened around her instinctively, then released her into their care.

'What ... what happened?' he asked hoarsely.

'You healed her, Severus,' Poppy said quietly. 'Look.' He did. He saw the pale, unblemished skin, all traces of wounds gone. He saw the relaxed expression, eased from the torment that had twisted it. Was that how he looked after Fawkes had graced him? When he had felt the touch of that alien, yet comfortable mind? He met the warm eyes of the phoenix, saw the compassion there. Wonder filled him, and a warm exhaustion. Whatever he had done, it had taken almost everything he had. He could barely lift his head.

But he had to warn her. Beneath that warmth, the cold horror of knowledge held him still. There was only one man who knew to cast that curse, only one spirit vicious enough to harm another so. And it wasn't the Dark Lord.

'Poppy,' he whispered. She leant into him. 'It's Lucius. He's back. He touched her. He's back, Poppy.'

She recoiled in horror. 'No! He's dead, Severus. It can't be him. We know he's dead. You're free, aren't you? He can't still be alive!'

Severus struggled with his exhaustion, struggled to explain. 'Not alive. Returned, but not alive. Her legs ... necrosis. It will heal, but ... It's his touch. He's ... possessed a body, his own, probably. He's a greater Inferi, Poppy, a corpse with a mind. He's come back.'

He looked into her horrified eyes. 'Poppy, she was raped by a corpse. By the corpse of Lucius Malfoy. It's his curse.'

Woah! I billed this thing as horror for a reason. We all knew Lucius wouldn't stand to just die off, but he is such a bastard. Voldemort's got nothing on this guy. We'll meet him next ch, after I recover from the knowledge of what's in my own head. As for the rest, y'all remember back in Ch4 how Severus had a link with Fawkes? Here's an expansin on the relationship. R&R for me? Please?


	13. ch12: Mistress & Slave

I am so slow with updates! Sorry, sorry. I do try. Anyway, totally new POV this chapter. The last living Malfoy: Narcissa. Enjoy!

Chapter 12: The Mistress and the Slave Boy

Under the Headmistresses stern glare, Narcissa fought the urge to wilt. She understood this woman's fury, but she would not be cowed. Drawing on every shred of dignity left to her, she drew herself up, facing her enemy with pride. She may have lost everything that ever mattered to her, but she would not cower like some house elf. She was pure-blood, of the line of the Ancient House of Black, wife to the heir to the Malfoy line, nobility incarnate. Though she was broken for it, she would still carry herself with the pride her lineage demanded.

'I require a meeting with Severus Snape,' she demanded. _And by all the gods, hurry. I won't last much longer._ 'I know you know how to find him. Take me to him, please. Or bring him here. I don't care. Just hurry.'

The infernal woman raised her eyebrows, a gesture that reminded Narcissa so strongly of Severus that it hurt to see it. 'I don't know what you mean, _Widow Malfoy_,' Narcissa cringed, 'but Severus Snape has not had contact with me for quite some time. Indeed, by all reports the traitor is dead. From what I've heard, an old friend of your husband's found reason to be disappointed with our late potions master.'

Did the woman have to be so petty, to keep bringing Lucius into it? It wasn't as if she didn't know what he had done. In fact, Narcissa knew more than this haughty witchling ever would, and she would not stand to be patronised! Not here, and not now! Did McGonagal think she was the only one to have suffered loss? Did she think that a few cheap shots would make Narcissa Malfoy retreat? She had no idea!

'I know full well that that is not true. _Voldemort_ could not kill Severus if he tried! That man simply does not succumb. And whether you trust him or not, whether he is safe with you or not, Severus would have come to you once he escaped, if only to give you information before you sent him away.' Her own tone was as coldly venemous as she could manage, which was enough to set Bella to retreat. 'He was ever on your side, though for what reason I could never fathom. You are not worthy. Now. Where is he? If you have sent him to Azkaban, then you will regret it. _Bring him to me._'

She stood under the other witch's scrutiny, fists clenched, stony-faced. She _would_ get what she wanted. Needed. She _had_ to see Severus, before her time ran out. He wasn't dead. Whatever this woman said, she would have known had he died. She had complete faith in his ability to escape fate. As long as she had known her husband's slave, she had known that he would not be mastered. Not by Lucius, not by her, not by Death himself. Until the world itself fell to the Dark Lord, Severus would be there to fight, however he could.

'Wait here.' Minerva walked away, to the room's fireplace. Narcissa's heart leapt. She struggled to maintain her stern facade, but that ability was slowly leaving her along with everything else. She hoped he would see her. She had to get to him. Minerva talked with someone through the Floo, arguing vehemently, by the sounds of things. A female voice carried through, strident, if masked slightly by the fire. _'He is not coming! He's too weak. We had a .. problem. He's exhausted himself, and I am not letting him go! I ...' _The voice cut off. Narcissa lost the next few sentances on either side, straining to hear. Then the voice she most needed to hear came through.

She watched as Severus' cold command forced the Headmistress to move aside, letting him through the Floo. She straightened, but couldn't help the flash of desperate need that flittered across her features. She knew he noticed. He always did. But she noticed many things too. She saw his skeletal physique, his worn face with its sunken eyes, blued shadows accentuating his obvious exhaustion. She saw the Healer that rushed through behind him, the concern in her eyes that was more than healer for patient. She saw the reassuring glance he sent the woman, the tenderness. She saw his weakness, and his strength, both so plain to her eyes that she wondered how so many could miss it. She saw, and the emotions that welled up in her overcame her waning defenses to burst out in a single choked sob.

He was at her side in an instant, concern on his tired face. Concern for her, for his master's wife, for his enemy's servant. The same concern he always showed towards her. The same understanding that as always she knew she did not deserve. How could they not see his worthiness, when he would casually show mercy to an enemy?

'Narcissa?' His voice was soft and silken as always. His arms touched hers gently, not catching, merely supporting in a way so unlike Lucius' possessive grasping that it alone calmed her. His gaze pulled hers up to meet it, hypnotic and reassuring. Under that calm stare, her wayward emotions receded, allowing her to regain her lost composure, to remember her reason for coming here.

'Severus, I'm sorry about this. I had to see you, and I'm sorry, but there are some things I have to tell you, and I knew you weren't dead, and you're hurt, and I've disturbed you, but I don't have much time, and I _must_ speak with, it's very important, and I need to tell you ...' She tried to stop the babbling, aware that she was embarrassing both of them, but her control hadn't returned as much as she had thought, and she couldn't stop. She realised furiously that she had tears in her eyes, and tried to reach up to brush them away, but he held her arms, not hard, but firm enough to halt the movement.

'Narcissa,' he said gently. 'Narcissa, I'm fine. Tell me what's happened. Tell me what you need. What is it?' He led her to a chair and sat her down, crouching in front of her so he could hold her trembling hands in her lap. She stared at him, at his upturned face, and felt the old feelings stirring, feelings she knew full well she shouldn't have. She fought them down, turned to her purpose to blot them out.

She took a deep breath, glancing at the other two women as she did.They looked confused, and angry, and something else she didn't understand. Some manner of sympathy or pity that she had never seen before. She hated it, and turned away from it angrily to face the man kneeling before her.

'I have some things to give to you,' she stated. He blinked, looking so comical that she couldn't suppress a little chuckle. He so rarely looked confused. She watched the eyebrow go up, watched the tiny smile tug at the corner of his lips, and the world suddenly seemed lighter. She cursed herself for feeling it, cursed herself for loving him when he was forbidden her, but his smile wrought magic in her world. She laughed bitterly to herself. The Mistress and the Slave Boy, like in those pathetic romances she had read as a student. But he was no more a slave, and she no longer his mistress. And he had a love of his own now. She had survived too long on an instinct for social events to miss the love in his glance towards the healer, and hers back. It was too late for her now anyway.

She freed her hands to fumble in her robe pocket, ignoring the tensing in the stances of the two witches. Eventually she pulled forth what she needed, and thrust the tiny object at him, slipping in into his hand. He stared at it curiously, turning it over in his slender fingers to examine it carefully. Finally he looked back at her. 'Is this what I think it is?' he asked quietly. She nodded.

'It's the key to the Malfoy family vault.' The witches startled, but he only looked at her, willing her to explain. 'It's no use to anyone else now ...' Her voice broke momentarily but she recovered. His hands slipped around hers again in comfort. '...Now that Draco is gone,' she continued. 'If anyone deserves that money, it's you. Gods know what you went through to earn it, and now that _he's_ gone, you're free to take it.' They both knew who _he_ was.

He stared for a moment, weighing something in his mind. She hoped he wouldn't refuse. Finally he spoke. 'I can't take it, Narcissa. You'll need it to get out of England. Besides, I failed you. I failed you and Draco. He's dead because of me, and I can't accept rewards for letting your son die.' His voice turned bitter. 'I don't _deserve_ anything from you. Not after that.'

It was her turn to comfort him, though she felt the sting of guilt run through her. It was time to explain. 'Don't. Don't say that. I mean what I say. You're the only one who deserves it. What happened to Draco ... it wasn't your fault. You did everything you could and more, and I should have known better than to place such an impossible task on you. You fought your position to help my son, something I should have known would end badly. It wasn't you who caused his death, but Voldemort and my thrice-accursed husband. It was Lucius' failure that led to Draco's death, and we both know it. If he hadn't led my son down this path, if he hadn't failed and then been captured, taking him out of the Dark Lord's grasp, then Draco might have survived. Don't blame yourself for my bloody husband's mistakes. He was your master, not your responsibility. Let it go.'

He didn't respond, but she didn't need him to. She could see that he knew these things, but he always did try to take everything on himself. He always tried to make right the crimes that were never his to begin with. He had such a powerful sense of honour, that was downright annoying at times, it was so positively Hufflepuffian. Slytherin her eye. He had the talents, the deceptive qualities, all right, but name a house and he had the gifts. Hufflepuff loyalty and honour, Ravenclaw genius, Slytherin cunning and survival instinct. Even bloody Gryffindor courage, though you'd be ill-advised to mention _that_. She fully understood the healer's attraction. She wished her the luck that she herself had never had, or ever would have, now.

'As for me,' she smiled gently. 'I really don't think that will be an issue, in a few minutes or so.' He sat bolt upright, staring at her in terror. She laughed. He caught on quick, quicker than anyone she'd met.

'Narcissa, what have you done!' he asked urgently. She reached up to touch his cheek softly, in an absurd gesture of possessive comfort. She would miss him so. But he would survive, and her place was with her son. She knew it in the way any mother knows that her place is with her child. He wouldn't understand, maybe, but it was too late now to stop.

'You gave a potion, once,' she said dreamily. 'For pain, when Lucius got angry that time. Remember? You told me it would take all the pain away, but I shouldn't take too much, because then it would take everything else too. Then it would put my to sleep, and I wouldn't ever wake again. Do you remember?'

'How much, Narcissa? How much did you take, and how long ago?' He was frantic, barely concealing it. She was touched that he could still be so concerned for her. Now that her job was done, and she'd stopped resisting the potion, she could feel the beautiful lassitude flooding her body, the peace in mind and body that took all pain.

'All of it!' She laughed. 'Oh Severus, you were right! There's no pain. None at all. I didn't think I could have such peace, not after Lucius, but I don't feel a thing! It's wonderful! Don't be so worried! I want it. I want to go to Draco, don't you see? It's alright! I meant this to happen. I just had to see you first. It's okay.'

She felt herself slide bonelessly into his arms, and giggled helplessly. 'I'll miss you though. I always did like you, you proud, impossible man. I always loved you. I know you loved someone else, still do, but I couldn't help it. You're just too beautiful!' She laughed at his desperate blush, his tears. She felt so good now. So free.

She waved at the healer. 'Take care of him, hmm? He's too good to let go. You hear me?' He caught her outflung arm, pulled it back against him with the rest of her. She caught the healer's tearful nod before he took her chin in his hand and looked into her fevered eyes. He winced at the evidence of the poison he found there, but she couldn't find the energy now to be bothered by it. She could almost see her little Dragon beckoning. She was light as a feather, happy as an angel.

Then he leant in, and feathered his lips over her brow, and she let a delighted, stunned laugh escape. He cared. 'Go to him then,' he whispered. 'Go in peace, Narcissa.' His tears fell onto her face, but he understood. It gave her such peace to know that. Silently, because she couldn't speak anymore, she wished him happiness. She wished for him to find a piece of light in the darkness, like she had now. She wished him to be safe. He deserved it.

The last thing she saw with living eyes was his sad, understanding gaze, and she slipped happily into the endless dream, at peace at last.

Well? I know it's a bit of a jump from the Trio last chapter, but it does have a purpose. What do you think? R&R?


	14. ch13: Greater Power

I know I said we'd see Lucius last chapter, but it didn't work. But he's definitely showing up here. So enjoy!

Chapter 13: Who now the greater power holds?

Poppy moved quietly forwards. Severus' shoulders shook softly as he clutched the woman's corpse, but no sound came from him. He never made any sounds of pain or sorrow. That didn't mean he never felt them. Narcissa had obviously meant a great deal to him. Had this come before, she would have been jealouse, but she held his spirit in hers, and knew exactly what this woman meant. Gently, she laid a hand on his shoulder.

'Severus? Severus, let go. She's gone, and at peace. Let her go to her son. Let her be safe.'

'She shouldn't have had to die to be safe. She shouldn't have had to die to join him. I should have been able to keep them alive, safe from him. I couldn't keep myself safe, but I should have been able to help them.' She tightened her grip as he spoke, letting him talk since he wouldn't cry. 'He took them. He led them to death.' His voice, still low, took on a hard, cold edge. 'He did this.'

He stood, with Narcissa still in his arms. Poppy stood back, giving him room. He laid her on the couch, a leftover from Albus' days, smoothed her hair back from her face, no longer bathed in sweat. She really did look at peace. He didn't. He looked fierce, battle-ready. He looked like a spirit of vengence, a Nemesis come to destroy the one who'd wronged him. Poppy felt a thrill, watching him settle into a fighting stance. Lucius was going to die. The man who'd damaged her love, who'd destroyed so many lives, was going to hurt. And she was going to see it.

Severus turned to look at her. He knew her thoughts. She could see his indecision, whether to let her come and have her own vengence, or keep her here where she'd be safe. She sneered at him, a mirror of his favourite expression of contempt. She'd not be left behind. Not by him. Not by anyone. She'd had enough of waiting for her damaged love to return. She was going to battle with him, come hell or high water. Come _him_ or high water.

He nodded at her. 'I have to prepare. He'll come here. He knows it's here I'll be, if I live. He'll call when he's ready. And then we'll meet.' He smiled a grim smile. 'And then we'll meet.'

Minerva and Remus stood with them on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, the Golden Trio behind them. They'd insisted on coming. Despite Hermione's injuries, despite the fact that it was none of their business, they'd insisted. Alastor, surprisingly, had not. The Auror had taken one look at Severus' grim face, and told him to kill the bastard, and best of luck with it. Very understanding of the old bastard. Something had definitely changed between him and Severus after they'd seen his past. But would the others listen to him? Would they her eye. They were coming, and that was that. She'd expected Severus to refuse, to order them to stay. She still didn't fully understand why he hadn't.

'He's coming,' Severus said quietly. She tensed, tightening her grip on the twin vials he'd given her, reviewing his instructions. She was a healer, not a warrior, and though she'd seen battlefields in her earlier days as medic in the first war, she would never fully fit in amid such violent chaos. It was her vocation to take choas and turn it to order, healing the interuptions to the body's internal order. She did not to well as an agent of that disorder, that chaos. The vials were for her protection as she watched. She wasn't stupid enough to think she could fight a spirit as malevolent as Malfoy in open battle.

Unfortunately, others weren't as smart. Potter and Weasley in particular had every intention of fighting, to avenge Granger. Minerva and Remus thought they'd be defending Severus. Somehow, Poppy doubted that would be how things panned out. Of them all, Severus was the only one who knew what they were facing. Severus, and Hermione Granger, which was why she thought he'd let the girl come. So she could know that the son of a Dementor had been defeated once and for all, and could never hurt her again. He would never hurt anyone again.

'My my, what a gathering, Severus,' came the velvet tones of the senior Malfoy. Poppy hissed in hatred as she watched the blonde corpse walk out of the trees. And he was a corpse. Even in this gloom she could see the hold necrosis already had on the body, the grey-green palour that stained the once alabastor flesh. The shimmering white-gold hair was the one vestige of beauty Lucius had retained, floating in an angelic halo around the demonic eyeless visage. The eyeballs were one of the first things to go. Just one of the revolting facts that a healer came to know. This rotting remnant of a body revolted the others, but it held no horror for her in comparison to the spirit housed in its crumbling confines. No physical decay could match the creeping horror of the inner evil.

'I'm so pleased you all came out to meet me,' Lucius murmured, looking them over. Poppy's flesh crawled as he dragged that eyeless gaze over her, but it was nothing to the torment that Hermione and Severus were feeling. The girl shrank back from it, behind her suddenly uncertain friends, drawing the Inferi's attention.

'Ah, there you are. My pretty prize. My little death-whore. Did you enjoy our little meeting, mudblood? Did you enjoy our ... intimacy?' Ron snarled at him, moving protectively in front of his tormented girlfriend, though in reality there was little he could do against Lucius Malfoy. The corpse made to move towards them, eliciting a terrified squeal. Poppy gripped the vial of liquid fire in her left hand, ready to hurl it at him if he took so much as one step further. What was wrong with the others?

'Let be, Lucius. I command you,' Severus demanded coldly. 'Let them be.' Of course! Poppy could have laughed. Lucius was dead, like Albus. That meant Severus had the control now. That meant Lucius had to obey him. They were safe. More, they could take revenge at their leisure, and he couldn't harm them so long as Severus forbade him. But then why did her husband look so grim and wary? And why did Lucius look so smug?

'Ha ha ha!' Lucius gave what could loosely be called a laugh, but the gurgle of excess bodily fluid rather ruined the sound, though not its effect. 'Oh Severus, my slave, you know better than that. _I _am the master. Always. Did you think I hadn't researched this? Did you think I wouldn't realise what death would do to the bond? Your pathetic attempts at mastery will always fail. While I exist in physical form in this world, you cannot touch me. While I wear a body, you cannot gain mastery. _You _are the slave. _You_ are mine. And you will kneel before me, as I taught you. This body, handsome though it was, lacks a certain something now, and I am having difficulty getting what I desire. You will service me now, I think.'

'You are dead, Lucius. Body or no, you are dead, and I am free. You cannot order me, anymore than I can you. I will not kneel before you again. Ever.' Severus said softly, cold warning in his tone.

'Oh, but I can, Severus. You are weak, as you ever were, and you have brought me all I need to make you bow.' The rotten hand encompased them all in a sweeping gesture, lingering over a pale, desperate Hermione, and Poppy understood their monumental mistake. Alone, Severus would have had no fear of this creature, but with them as hostages to the Inferi's will, vunerable as they were without knowledge of how to fight it, he was weakened by worry for them. For him, there would be no choice save to do for them as he had done for Narcissa and Draco, and put himself in their place, as a sacrifice. For the damaged girl, he wouldn't hesitate.

Severus laughed, as coldly and cruelly as Lucius had moments before. She stared at him in shock. He was luminous, palely glowing with fury, and his black eyes shone with a dark light. Poppy realised that she was seeing the side of him that served the Dark Lord, the cold cruel man that she'd only ever sensed as pockets of darkness inside his bright soul. This was the battle-Severus, the persona he put forward to the Death Eaters, the assassin and poisoner, the duelist. He was frankly terrifying.

'You are foolish indeed, Lucius, if you think I haven't prepared for you. You are foolish to believe that I would let my freedom slip casually back from my fingers. You are the weak one here. You utter fool, Malfoy. That rotting shell, that corpse, is all that keeps you from my control. You are Inferi! Greater Inferi, a corpse with a mind, but still Inferi. And you walk into my hands, completely vunerable, after sending me a message telling me exactly how to beat you. If that body is all that stands between us, then I must simply destroy it.'

Lucius crouched agressively, and hissed, feral and arrogant, even still. 'To do that, Severus, you must fight me, and you have neither the power nor the opportunity to do so, as long as your pathetic companions stand to be damaged. Even if you could protect them, you were never strong enough to face _me_. You will bow for me, slave, and I will take you as I wish! Do it!'

'You will not harm them, Lucius. Not if you value your precious body.' Severus raised his hands, his magic answering his silent direction, and tugging the vials from their grasp. Floating serenely, the red glass bottles formed a circle around Severus and the Inferi. Too late, she grasped his intent, and cried out to stop him, but his spell was already cast. The vials shattered, spilling fire onto the ground, ringing the two combatants in red flame. He cut them off, leaving himself to face Lucius alone. No wonder he had been willing to let them come. He'd had no intention of letting them face Lucius. He'd let Hermione face her fear, without ever putting her in danger. The sheer calculation that spoke of was terrifying. Nemesis indeed.

'Your body is no protection from me, Lucius. You could never fight me. You never dueled me before. You used a duel as a false premise on which to torture a helpless slave. But you can't do that here. You can't order me to lose. You must face me on your own merits, and you must lose.'

Severus smiled serenely, eyes glittering coldly. 'For those you betrayed, Lucius, I take revenge. Let your son be my weapon, the son you led to death at the Dark Lord's hands. Let Draco destroy you.' He raised his hands, wreathed in cold blue flame, looking like the sorcerors of old, the wizards of times before wands, the ancient wielders of spirit magic.

'_Draco Ignis!_'

He erupted into flame, blue and silver, that shrouded him like a fierce aura, before growing, changing, becoming seperate. From the formless fires came the Fire Dragon, the spirit of flame and vengence. Lucius screamed as it engulfed him, burning his corrupted flesh in the purity of its fire, devouring the corpse that housed his twisted spirit. He writhed in its grasp, withering away slowing, horrifyingly, mouth stretched in a wordless scream. His blonde hair crackled with ersatz electricity, wreathing his head in a burning nimbus. The flames destroyed him utterly, the corpse that formed his tenuous grasp on this physical world, leaving a pale shadow, a helpless spirit to face Severus' wrath.

The Dragon receded, its purpose complete. It wrapped itself lovingly around Severus, nuzzling his chest with its snout, resting its huge head on his shoulder to look in his eyes. It was Draco that looked out of those blue eyes, gratitude and forgiveness, wisdom unfathomable to those who yet lived. Severus looked back, tears of understanding in his lustrous black eyes. Then the great beast faded from him, gently, leaving some of its warmth to hover over them, and especially him. He stared after it for a long moment.

'Lucius,' he commanded softly, not looking at the gibbering wreck of a spirit. 'You wanted to remain in this world. So be it. You will wander this world forever, without harming or touching or frightening any other creature, never to achieve the other place. You chose this life. Now face it. I command you. Go.'

The flames died away, the spirit of the unfortunate Malfoy faded from sight and hearing, and Severus turned back to face them. Poppy knew what the others looked like. Minerva was awed and terrified, Remus plain terrified, and the children in complete awe. Hermione stared at Severus with gratitude and terror mixed. But Poppy couldn't care less. Her own feelings overwhelmed her: love and awe and fierce joy. He came to her, ignoring the others, took her up in his arms, expression questioning.

'Severus,' she murmured. 'Why didn't you warn me I was marrying a godling in disguise. This is the kind of thing you really should tell a girl.' He chuckled delightedly, surprised, and she relaxed. Sorcerer or no, godling or no, he was still her Severus.

Well? I kinda got a bit mythical there for a bit, not to mention the return of the horror, but woah this was fun. And before you say anything, Lucius deserved every bit of it, the bastard! R&R? Please?


	15. ch14: Heart to Heart

After the tumultous events of the last few chapters, I figured it was time to let things slow down a bit, and give the characters time to breathe a bit. So in this chapter Severus and the Trio, under Poppy's watchful eye, have a little chat, before we return to the big happenings next ch. Enjoy!

Chapter 14: Heart to Heart

How they had managed the return to Grimmauld Place, Severus wasn't quite sure. He'd been to caught up in the emotional backlash to the conflict with Lucius. And it wasn't even over yet. The Grey Council, the ghosts, would need him for Lucius' trial. The Bloody Baron had warned him of that. The thought of it, of having to face that leer _again_, when it should be over, horrified him. The old reflexes insisted that for disobeying his master, for _harming_ his master, the next time he saw Lucius would be to suffer punishment. He knew what he'd done was right, more than right, and he'd felt the fierce thrill of revenge, but even as he called the Dragon he'd felt in his heart the dread of reprisal. He'd flinched inside, as tormented as the burning figure, as his spell tore into his master. To all intents and purposes _he'd killed his master_! The lessons pounded into him over and over again, the nameless hovering fear that ruled all his dealings with Lucius, the instincts his continuing survival depended on, all insisted that he was the only one who could suffer from this.

In short, he was afraid. He was afraid in the way only a slave could know fear: a deep, everpresent dread that he was helpless to affect, a driving force in his psyche that he had no control over. He was a fast learner, and over years of torment he'd learned that if there was conflict between him and his master, Lucius would not be the one to lose. He couldn't beat his master. Ever.

He knew fear. It had been the mainstay of his existence for a quarter of a century. He knew fear intimitely, and could deal with it. He could work through it, around it, even with it. But it still shaped his thoughts. It still twisted his gut into a burning knot of dread. It still left him weak and trembling. Seeing Lucius' face had so nearly been too much for him, so nearly made him succumb and bow. That was where the bastard had been wrong. Bringing the others, the children, hadn't weakened him. The opposite, in fact. The thought that they would witness, maybe suffer, Lucius' vengence, had been all that stirred him past that numbing fear into action. The sight of Hermione's terror had enabled him to overcome his own. It had been an entirely selfish reaction to let them come. Alone, he would have bowed.

But he couldn't ignore their fear now. He couldn't ignore the tensions that sprang up between the Trio, couldn't deny his responsibility to help. The fear that now divided them, Hermione's terror of contact, stemmed from him. It was to taunt him that Lucius had taken her. It was because of him that Lucius had hurt her. So he had to help them. He had to help her.

He reached out gently to Poppy, touching her mind softly, just enough to draw her attention. She turned to him, smiling support warring with inate suspicion. She always did know when he planned something not to her liking. And he knew for a fact that staying up when he should be recovering still, poking old wounds, emotional or otherwise, when he should let them lie, was definitely something that would not be to her liking. But she knew as well as he that Hermione's fears could not be left to fester. What must be done, must be done.

_'Do you have to be so bloody Gryffindorish?'_ She huffed at him mentally. He almost laughed aloud. Gryffindorish? That was hardly the way he'd put it. Gryffindors were brave and reckless. He was cowardly and selfish and cautious. He spent almost all his time in constant terror. Hardly what he'd consider Gryffindor traits. But he did have a certain knack for getting into trouble, and that was _definitely_ a Gryffindor thing, if Potter and Longbottom were any indication.

'_Oh, stop thinking about it! Just do what you feel you must. I'm warning you though, overexert yourself, and I'm tying you to a bed until you're better! Get it!'_

He nodded, carefully disguising the wince at the reference to the tying down. Some memories he would rather she never saw, never heard of, never even thought could exist. She shouldn't see everything he knew.

She scattered the Order around them, deflecting all questions and attempts to talk to them, letting him guide Potter, Weasley and Granger into the kitchen. They followed readily enough, still awed at his 'power' after the Fire Dragon. Hermione was shaky, struggling with her own reaction to seeing Lucius. The other two didn't know how to deal with it. It was obvious that Ron had inherited his mother's instincts to hold and comfort. In the face of Hermione's aversion to touch, he was lost. And Potter, caring and fiercely loyal as he was to his friends, simply had never recieved enough comfort himself to know how to comfort others. They were lost, and straining at each others approaches.

He slid into counseler routine as easily as he slid into brewing. Years as the Sytherin Head of House, dealing with all the hidden fears and abuses that house hid, he'd become quite talented. That was what so many misunderstood about his House. They assumed that Sytherins became 'bad' as a result of the house. They never thought that the learned deceits and cunning developed by abused children could be read by the Hat as Sytherin cunning. They never thought that maybe Salazar, biased and blood-obsessed as he was, had actually thought to bring these children together to help them. Sytherins were bad by definition. No-one thought to ask why. And being constantly under attack, they learned to attack back. His poor children. Fierce and proud and damaged. And never appreciated.

He'd done what he could for them, and taught them to do more for each other. Poppy had told him of The Survivors, of their spread to and adoption of other houses. He'd never felt such sheer pride in all his life. His children, showing all just how strong and good they were. But he wished they were here. He wasn't completely confident of his ability to handle these three. The percieved enimities could be too entrenched. After all, not two days ago they'd been fully prepared to kill him. But he owed it to them to at least try.

Hot chocolate was the first step. People laughed, but it worked. Something about chocolate lifted your spirits. That was why it was used after Dementor attacks. Besides, the act of brewing the perfect pot calmed _him_ down enough to be receptive to the children's problems, and helped him submerge his own fears and worries. He had it down to a science, as precise as any potion.

He got them settled into the armchairs that Molly and Poppy had gathered in this room. They watched them warily over the steaming mugs, save Hermione, who simply stared into her chocolate and shook. He sighed.

'He isn't gone,' he said softly. She looked at him, raw fear and desperate hope in her face. The others glared. 'But he cannot harm you. I know that means bugger all. And it gets worse, because you'll have to see him again.' She flinched visibly, causing Ron to lean halfheartedly towards her. But fear of making things worse kept the redhaired boy from getting up. It was then that the extent of the rift this had opened between them became obvious to Severus.

'The Grey Council, that is the ghost council, will be holding a trial for him,' he explained calmly, tactfully ignoring the byplay. It was vital that she focus on what he was saying, and come out of her private horror. 'He is condemned to stay here as a ghost now, and they have jurisdiction over him. As his ... Master ... I have to be there, and as his ... victim ... so do you. You'll have to give evidence.'

He paused, letting them realised what that would mean. 'You'll have to relive it,' he said softly. She gave a strangled cry, hunching forwards over her chocolate. Her friends leapt up. Swiftly he motioned them back, letting a glimmer of his Death Eater persona show through for a second. It was important that she know they would support her, but she needed to pull through this on her own. She needed to see for herself how to fight her fear.

He turned to Potter and Weasley. 'Do you know what it is to be afraid?' he asked. They looked afronted.

'Of course we do!' Potter exclaimed. 'We're fighting a war! We know more about fear than most people! We have to fight things most people only have nightmares about!'

Here he interupted. 'That's just it. You're fighting them. You can fight.' He watched her lift her head as he went on. 'You don't know fear, because you have never been helpless. You have never faced a foe that you couldn't at least attack, if not defeat. But we have, her and I. And many others. That is the fear that Lucius commands. He takes you when you're helpless, when you can't fight him, and he hurts you.' She was crying softly. He talked on. 'That is fear. The fear that if you let yourself be helpless again, he'll come. That if you close your eyes, his face will be the first thing you see when you open them. That if you let yourself be touched, his hands will be the ones you feel. That if you let another close enough to see you vunerable, they'll hurt you the way he did. That is fear. That is what haunts your friend.'

He looked now at her, coaxing her eyes up with his gaze so she could see him, his sincerity. 'That is what haunts us, yes? That is what we can't escape. But we have to. We have to. He's dead. Here or not, he's still dead. He can't touch us again.' He fought down his own creeping doubts. 'I will make sure of it. The Grey Council will make sure of it. But we have to face him. And more. We have to face his student. In this, Voldemort is his student, not the other way around. Imagine what happened to us, happening to everyone the Dark Lord dislikes. Imagine it happening to your friends. Imagine, if he wins, whole races subjected to this. If we can't face Lucius, how will we help others face the Dark Lord? We have to do this.'

He moved over to crouch beside her chair, laying a hand lightly on her shoulder. She flinched, but not as strongly as before. To fight fear, you needed a stronger one to fuel anger. That was why Molly was prehaps the strongest of the Order. Her fear was for others, so she cast aside all worry for herself to help them. That was what Hermione needed. She needed a cause, a reason to face her fear. She needed her friends. She needed Harry and Ron, not to pity her, but to fight with her. She needed their strength to support her, and their weakness to give her a chance to support them. She needed them as he needed Poppy. She had the strength to fight. He'd seen it in her mind, her spirit. She only needed a cause.

She looked at him, face tearstained but jaw firmed, determination glittering in her eyes. She glared proudly at the other two, daring them to pity her. Almost weeping, they stared back. Love was obvious there, lover to lover between her and Ron, friend to friend between her and Harry. He hoped it would be enough to sustain them.

He left them, staggering out of the kitchen towards his room. He was exhausted, physically and emotionally. He needed a rest. He needed a year or so of rest. It wasn't going to happen. But he could at least try for a night's worth. His vision blurred, black spots floating in front of him. He was weak, far too weak still after his ordeals. He barely noticed the hand that steadied him, only the warmth of her spirit in his mind. He smiled through the exhaustion. She was all the cause he needed, all the support. His Poppy. His love.

She all but carried him up the stairs to the room. He let her, confident that she could handle his pathetic weight. He entertained mildly fuzzy daydreams of chocolate gateaux and desserts, that he could actually stomach. He blearily promised himself that in the unlikely event that he survived the coming war, he'd eat one of Molly's chocolate fudge confections whole.

'_Severus, you are such an idiot!'_ Her exasperated voice in his mind was the last thing he heard as he slipped peacably into sleep for the first time in too long. It was a rather pleasant lullaby, all things considered.

Well? Bit of a slow chapter, but hey. Next up, Lucius gets his just rewards. Looking forward to it. Oh yeah. R&R?


	16. ch15: Council

I don't want to touch Lucius with a barge pole, but he needs to get what he deserves. So here's the last chapter in the Lucius segment. Enjoy! But be warned. The M-rating kicks in in force in this chapter.

Chapter 15: Council

"Severus! Come on! Time to go!" Poppy was getting annoyed, and rather worried. She was well aware, more than anyone, that he was weak and in dire need of more rest than he'd had, but he shouldn't be so deep in sleep that she couldn't wake him. He _never_ slept that deeply, not even when he lay at death's door. It had often been a sourch of great annoyance to her, that he'd wander off with half-healed critical injuries, without a second thought. If he could get up with a hole in his gut, what could be wrong here to hold him in sleep?

"Severus! Wake up! Now, do you here me!" _Please, please be hearing me._ "Severus!" She stopped. Faint, barely detectable, as many of his expressions were, was a smile. Just a tiny curl of the lips, but he was smiling. Then she felt his soultouch on her mind, and realised that he'd been in contact with her for some moments.

"Severus? Do you mean to tell me that you've _been awake this whole time_!" His eyes fluttered open and the smile widened to an open laugh. The sheer delighted mischief in his face caused her considerable difficulty in restraining her urge to smack him. "You ... You vile, sneaky, cruel little ..." She couldn't finish. It was hard to speak when your husband had swept you down to kiss you rather thoroughly. And rather desperately. Oh.

"It's going to be alright," she whispered, once he'd released her. "You can face this. I know it." She smiled a wistful smile. "You're too deep for him ever to touch, remember? You've proven it a thousand times over."

"No," he whispered back. "He could always touch me. He could always make me afraid. Even as I fought him, I was terrified. I'm still terrified. With him, I always am. How can I be sure that fear won't cause me to make a mistake? How can I know that I haven't left him an opening to harm us? To harm the others? He always wins. Always. What can I do against him?"

"Everything, Severus. You can do anything you wish to him now. You're free. The shoe's on the other foot. You _can_ do this!" Gods, she hoped he could. She wanted to see that smug piece of shit get all the pain he so richly deserved, and Severus was the only one who could give it to him. He _was_ strong enough. He was a billion times stronger than Lucius. Even at his weakest, he was stronger. And by gods would they let Lucius know it!

_"My, aren't we homocidal today?"_ he murmured in her mind, and she was glad to feel that amusement and determination edged out that paralysing fear. It was time, to show Lucius who the _true_ master was, and had always been. And it _wasn't_ the blonde.

The trial was to take place in Hogwarts, in the Room of Requirement. The Grey Council was there in all its solemn glory, headed by the 'house ghosts', and a battery of eight other ghosts. A jury of twelve, then. The dead to judge the dead. And as they faced the prisoner, Lucius Malfoy, arrogant as ever, their faces were as grim as only dead men could manage. _"Well, at least they're taking this seriously," _she encouraged Severus. He snorted. He had the nose for it. _"You leave my nose out of it, woman!"_ Desperation still edged his humour, and it would until Lucius was dealt with.

The Grey Lady came to the centre of the room. She paused to look around, at the prisoner, at the Trio, at Albus, at Poppy and Severus. She stared long and hard at Severus. He stared back, grim determination to match that of any spirit here. She nodded an acknowledgement in his direction.

"I would welcome you," she began. "But this is not the occasion. There is no welcome to be found here. This is a grim event, rarely before seen within these halls. We come to judge a slave, a once-master of a slave, and a servant of a Dark Lord. We come to judge Lucius Malfoy." Behind her, the man in question sneered in contempt. "As the head of the Grey Council, I am the final judge of this man. What the council decides, I will consider, but mine is the decision that will determine his fate. It is I you must convince, one way or another. You will each get a chance to speak."

There were murmurs at this. Surely she couldn't mean to let _Malfoy_ speak! Surely they wouldn't let the bastard slither out! Every human court the man had stood before had let him slip away. They could _not_ let a court of the dead do the same. Enfuriated, Poppy stood forward to do battle, when her husband laid a calming hand on her arm.

"Would you have him say this was unfair?" Severus murmured. "I want him to get his chance. I want him to expend every inch of his Malfoy charm and persuasion. I want him to, because I want to see his face when he gives all, and still fails. I want him to know what it is to have your fate completely in another's hands, and less than merciful hands at that. Let him know what it is. Let him speak. Let him fail."

She subsided, a grim smile making its slow way onto her face. Oh yes, that _would _be fun! Yes indeed. See how the smug, superior bastard liked that one. She looked up at Severus, letting him see her gleeful agreement. Revenge was ever sweet.

The Grey Lady spoke again. "Four of you here shall speak before us. Severus Snape, master and ex-slave. Hermione Granger, victim. Albus Dumbledore, who once shared mastery of Severus with the accused. And Lucius, you shall speak also, and may reply to the accusations levelled against you. First to speak shall be Ms Granger, who has suffered most recently at this man's hands."

She ceded the floor to the girl. Poppy, seeing how Hermione shook, sent all her courage out to the girl, willing her strength for what must be done. She felt Severus direct a warm gaze at the girl, something rare, and shocking for those who did not know him. Under it, Hermione forgot for a brief moment her fear to stare back in shock and gratitude. Then he raised an eyebrow, and she turned away, blushing, to face the court, and the man who'd raped her.

Her voice quavered for a moment, then gained strength and power. "I don't know the laws of this court. I don't know what matters here and what doesn't. All I know is what this ... creature did to me." Lucius sneered at her, and she shivered, but went on. "Some things I can't tell, for they don't have bearing here. But I was separated from my friends, a long way from here, near Azkaban prison. I was separated from them, and this man found me. Or rather, I found him."

She swallowed. "He stood in a grave. A fresh grave. He ... he was entering a body. His dead body. I was paralysed. I didn't know what to do, and before I could think to run, he ... saw me. He saw me. I tried to tell myself run, but I couldn't look away. There were ... no eyes, but he saw me anyway. I could feel him looking at me, without eyes, through the shattered face. I ... I froze. I couldn't even think. He moved towards me, and still I couldn't look away from that face. And then ... he touched me."

Her breath hitched, and Poppy felt Severus quiver in reaction as well. She didn't want to think what that hand must have felt like to the girl.

"I woke up. The hand ... was beginning to rot. The smell, the touch on my face ... I woke from the daze. But it was too late. I couldn't get away. He ... It was so strong. I couldn't get away. He put me on the ground. He was grinning. There was no skin left over the teeth, and the grin ... I panicked. I struggled, but it did no good. I tried to cry out. He let me. No-one came. No-one came. He ripped my robes. And then ... then he ripped me. I screamed, a lot. He muttered something strange, and I felt the pain spread, felt something come up from ... from him and lodge in me. I don't remember him leaving. I don't remember Harry and Ron finding me. I couldn't stop screaming, and the thing in me hurt. I felt like my mind was shrinking under the pain. I felt nothing else until ... until Professor Snape came to me. He made it stop. He made the hurting stop."

She turned to Severus, tears glistening in her eyes. "You made it go away. You made me whole again. I felt you, in my head. I felt you helping me, soothing me. I felt you fight the thing. It hurt you too. It hurt you but you made it go away. I didn't ... I never thanked you. I never thought beyond today, having to see it again. But thank you. Thank you so much. I ..." Severus, unthinking of propriety and the court, moved to her. Gently, he guided her back to Poppy, smiling a gentle smile.

"I know. You did thank me. In here," He touched her forehead lightly. "You gave me all the thanks I could want. It's okay. It's all okay."

"How very touching," Malfoy sneered. Severus and Hermione stiffened in unison. "How romantic. So that's why you were so upset, slave. I didn't know that. Does her little boyfriend know she's your plaything? I ask only out of curiousity, you understand."

Poppy nearly went for him, snarling. It wouldn't have done any good had she reached him, or Ron, who lunged with her, Malfoy being a ghost, but it would have helped _her_. Harry only barely caught Ron, and Severus had to literally sweep her off her feet to stay her lunge. The ghosts were in uproar, both Bloody Baron and Nearly Headless Nick swinging in front of Malfoy, utter fury on their pale faces. They forced him back by sheer rage. He barely faltered, sneer still very much in evidence.

The Grey Lady bellowed for calm, her strident voice cutting across the babble, halting it immediately. Once silence had resumed, she turned to Lucius. "You were given leave to respond to accusations," she informed him, the very air around her crystallising with the ice in her voice. "You were not permitted to torment your victims further. This will cease. You forfit all right to speech, and the chance to defend yourself. Am. I. Clear?" He smirked contemptuously, but nodded.

The Lady turned back to them. Severus by now had set Poppy down, and Ron had subsided, but they were still furious, gathered protectively around Severus and Hermione, who looked around with a mix of pain and bewilderment. Severus, as always, recovered first.

"Lady? Shall we continue?" he asked respectfully. The warlike company visibly settled at his calm tone, and the Lady inclined her head gracefully. She gestured him forward, granting him the floor, and he stepped up smoothly, only pausing to lay a calming hand on Hermione's shoulder. And, that easily, the trial resumed.

"Lucius, that was low, even for you," he matched his once-master smirk for smirk. He was angry, Poppy realised, and that anger was drowning his fear. His usual condescending behaviour was asserting itself. Poppy was cheered. That meant he was recovering from the terror that Lucius inspired in him. It also meant that he could have a little fun, now.

"What happened to the sophisticated torments of our youth?" Severus continued. "What happened to the sadistic little promises? That was no better than your learning phase, just about as sophisticated as the time you forced me to chop me own hand off." Poppy jerked. She'd never seen that! She hadn't heard of this before! She knew he had a scar on one wrist, but there had never been any sign of the kind of trauma that would entail. Only if he'd reattached it straight away ... She'd never known he had the expertise. Or the raw nerve. Oh, he'd hear about this later. Mark her words.

Severus turned back to the 'jury', shrugging a touch helplessly. "What do you wish me to say? I cannot catalogue what he has done. I can only tell you that he had complete control over me, at least until he decided to share with Voldemort, and he exercised it in whatever way took his fancy. I have know everything from starvation to rape to enforced self-mutilation at his hand. I have been terrified of him for the twenty-six years he has owned me, and see no point in denying it. He knows it well. But I have had my own little pieces of revenge, too, and for fairness sake, I must mention them."

Poppy couldn't see why. Anything that bastard got, he more than deserved.

"I denied his mastery, by granting a portion of my bond, by choice and without Lucius' knowledge, to Albus Dumbledore, thus diluting his level of control over me. I even offered Albus the chance to kill me, which is a form of suicide, and prohibited by the bond. That, Albus refused." The children stared at Abus in shock, but Poppy was more concerned for Severus. Foolish, foolish gesture. Albus would never, ever kill an innocent. What had he been thinking to offer that? What had Lucius done to drive him there? The last thing she'd thought Severus would do was try to let himself be killed. He was far too stubborn for that. Or so she'd thought. So she'd thought.

"Later, I admit I set events in motion to lead to his imprisonment. I planted a suspicion in the Dark Lord's mind that Lucius was veering, and Voldemort put at the head of the Ministery attack, where he could keep an eye on him. This led to his capture, and later to his death. So though he controlled me, to a degree, I controlled him too ..."

Lucius cut across him with a snarl. "You had no such thing! _I_ was master! ME! You think your pathetic little schemes had any effect on me! Hah! You think even the Dark Lord had control of me! Who lived in riches while he skulked the world, a half-spirit? Who kept you bound in a cage for a whole summer, while your precious Albus was none the wiser? Who sent you back to him, barely alive, and he none the wiser because I commanded you to keep your condition secret from all? You dare to think you could manipulate me? You dare to think you could be anything other than a mewling, quivering piece of flesh to serve my pleasure? I own you, slave! Not even the Dark Lord could make you quake in fear as I did. No-one could have commanded your terror save me! No-one! Nothing you could have done could have affected me! I. Am. Master!"

Silence bloomed in the wake of this little outburst. Poppy, who'd know much of this already, was not so badly stunned, but it hurt her to realise that Severus had been in reach of her aid, and had to try and help himself because of this filth's orders. But Albus was flat out horrified. Severus had never told him of some of Lucius' more petty habits, like starving him, or denying him treatment. As for the others ... Poppy had rarely seen such raw horror and hatred. She was glad. She may have been a healer, but the grudge she bore against this man was long. He'd hurt her husband.

The Grey Lady stood, the ghosts behind her. She stared grimly at the prisoner. "Lucius Malfoy, you condemn yourself from your own mouth. We are in agreement, all twelve. You make a poor master. We will see how good a slave you make. Severus, he is yours." She nodded to him, gravely. Then, without warning, the grey host slid out through the walls, leaving only Albus, Severus, the three children, and Poppy to face Lucius.

Lucius glared, his sneer momentarily faltered. Severus stared him down. "I have already given you some commands. Now here the rest of them. You will not speak to another soul, living or dead, until I say otherwise. You will have no contact with the Dark Lord, or anyone connected with him. You will betray none of our secrets. You will not pass the veil. You will remain invisible. I do not wish to ever see you again. You will not let yourself be seen by anyone who knew you, or was hurt by you. Go. Go now, and do not ever return."

Reluctantly, unwillingly, the evil spirit faded from sight, and was gone. Poppy moved to her husband's side. _"That's it? That's all you're going to do to him?" _She whispered in his mind. He turned to her.

_"You do not understand what a fate I have given him. I am free. He now can never be. And I will not stand to have him near me. Not when I have the choice. But it's good to know that I can still push his buttons. I can still tweak him onto the path I need him to take. Now. I never want to bear his gaze again. Do you?"_

_"No. No, I understand. Let's just go back. Let's just be free of him."_

And bye bye to Lucius. Well? That's the end of this chapter in the story. To be honest, I'm not sure exactly what's coming next, but house-elves, and not-so-dark pasts are part of it. A touch of hope, to counter the darkness. See you soon. R&R?


	17. ch16: Will & Spirit

In the last chapter of this, I told you I'd see you soon. That didn't happen. I don't know how long it's been since I last updated this, and I'm ashamed. But I haven't abandoned the story. It's going all the way to the bitter end, even if it takes six months per chapter. Sorry for trying your patience, and I hope someone will stay with this until it finishes, even if I don't deserve it. So enjoy.

Chapter 16: Will and Spirit

Severus looked around him warily, taking in the faces that surrounded him. Poppy, as always, was a steadfast presence by his side, glowing with vindicated fury at the judgement. Hermione stared in shock at the place the dark spirit had occupied, disbelieving, tentatively hopeful, as if she hoped Lucius would never return, but still harboured the fear that he might. Potter and her boyfriend stood close, watching her anxiously, their twin presences a warm wall of support at her back. She turned to them, tears springing to her eyes, and ran to them. They caught her up, wrapping her between them, the trinity made whole again. It stung Severus' heart, a sudden prick of wonder, that at least here he'd succeeded in easing the damage done. Then he turned to face the final shade.

Albus stared at him, utter horror in his ghostly face. His gaze flicked from Severus to the spot where Lucius had been and back, desperate and horrified. He knew now some of the things Severus had kept from him. They all did, but it struck his once-master harder. Severus knew what he would be feeling. Albus was, in many ways, an innocent soul, and the thought of such depravity being visited on someone under his care wouldn't be long in driving him to guilt. Severus wouldn't allow that.

"Albus?" He walked over to stand beneath the distressed spirit. "What's wrong?" He knew well enough, but Albus must speak of it himself for it to be of any use. He reached out gently, taking the transparent hand and easing the ghost down to ground-level. Albus didn't break his tormented stare.

"Severus ..." he choked, striving to explain. "What he ... was it ... when? What he said, about ... a summer. When? Did he ...? You ... Severus?" The dark man put a shushing finger to his lips, and Albus stopped, seeking reassurance.

"Yes, it was true," Severus murmured. "The summer of Draco's eighth birthday. But that doesn't matter. It's alright."

"_Alright_?" Albus gasped. "How can it be alright? You were ... hurt, badly, right under my nose, and _I knew nothing_! How could I not see? He said you were almost dead, and you came in and did the usual things, and I never noticed! I never noticed that you were hurt, and I did nothing to help you! That year ... I remember the start of that year. I _argued_ with you! I had a terrible row with you, I remember, and Filius snapped at me for being so hard on you when you had a point, and _you were hurt_. I did that, and you were hurt! _How_ can this be alright?"

Severus put his hands on his hips in his best imitation of Molly Weasley when dealing with a recalcitrant son. He raised an eyebrow, and knew his eyes would be glittering coldly. He'd had many years of practice with dressing people down, and truth be told he was rather proud of his intimidating facade. Albus had to be snapped out of his guilt trip, and fast.

"Are you done?" he asked coolly. Albus' eyebrows shot up, but Severus continued anyway, edging his tone with that particular mix of mockery and disappointment that had consistently driven two generations of Gryffindors up the wall. "I thought better of you, Albus. I had hoped you wouldn't succumb, and indulge such a Gryffindorish display of misplaced emotion. But that would be too much to ask, wouldn't it? You can take the man out of Gryffindor, and all that. This is why I much prefer dealing with anyone else. Slytherins and Ravenclaws at least usually realise that what must be done, must be done. Gryffs and Puffs have to cloud the issue with all this excess _feeling_. It's frankly annoying."

He had Albus' attention. And everyone else's. He smirked, warming to his subject. Though he'd always had much more pressing concerns than house rivalries, it amused him to play on others' desperate alliegances and ideals.

"Allow me to make this clear, then. Your bleeding Gryffindor heart has no bearing on what happened, and never would have changed anything. Lucius commanded me not to reveal my condition to you, but likely I would have done that on my own anyway. You'd be surprised how many wounds I concealed from you, of my own free will. And do you know why?" He paused, to emphasise his next point, and watched Albus closely.

" I never told you, because _I will not tolerate your pity._ I would never tolerate to be treated like some damaged tool, to be tiptoed around and handled as if I were fragile. And do not deny that that is what you would have done. If you'd known how often and how much I was hurt, you would never have allowed me to do what had to be done. You would never have allowed me to spy, to put myself in the position I needed to destroy Lucius. Your misguided attempt to shield me from something you could not change would have ruined my chance at victory, and I would _not_ allow that! So you should forget this martyred, bleeding-heart complex you've got, because you and Lucius may have been my masters, but you danced to my tune, and I refuse to apologise for it! Understand?"

He glared fiercely at the ghost's stunned expression, conscious of the air of wary tension around them. He bristled, furious that he'd gotten so upset, but meaning every word, and daring _anyone_ to deny him. They stayed like that for a long moment, silent and watchful. Then Albus smiled sightly, a watery effort, but it broke the tension.

"I'm sorry," he said ruefully, smiling at Severus.

"For what?"

"I'm sorry for, yet again, underestimating you. I'm sorry for insulting your pride, and capabilities. Forgive me?"

Severus sighed. "Of course. I didn't mean to be so ... adamant. You touched a sore spot, that's all. I ..."

Dobby burst into the room, with Minerva on his heels, interrupting him. They looked absolutely frantic. Minerva opened her mouth, struggling to draw breath to explain, but Dobby's high pitched squeal beat her to it. "Severus! Harry Potter! Master Dumbledore! They is _here_! They is here, they is here, they is here! What is we doing? What is we going to do? _They is here_!"

"_Who_ is here, Dobby?" Harry cut across, crouching down to try and calm the panicky elf. Minerva, her breath now recovered, strode over to Albus to fill them in.

"Albus, there is an army of Dementors outside! There's a couple of werewolves and a troll, too, but about thirty odd of those soul-eating beasts are sitting at our front door! There are students here, Albus! Not many, over the holidays, but still! We can't let them be hurt, but what do we do? Even with the staff, and the members of the Order we can get through the Floo, how do we stop an army of them? Patronus is for repulsion, not evisceration. We didn't expect such an attack, of such a scale, anytime soon. What do we do?"

Albus hurriedly laid calming hands on her shoulder. They went through, intangible, but the sudden cold was just as effective. She calmed. "Hush, Minerva. We'll think of something. It only requires calm thought."

"It doesn't even require that," Severus stated calmly. "I can deal with them."

Silence. Everyone stared at him in shock, save Poppy, who simply folded her arms and rolled her eyes in exasperation. Albus and Minerva looked skepticle, the Golden Trio outright disbelieving. Severus sighed heavily, and looked reprovingly at Albus.

"Did you forget so quickly? I escaped by destroying the Dementors he set against myself and Remus. It was an instinctive action, but I am well capable of a repeat performance. I merely require someone to guard my body. I'd rather not come back to find myself in their hands again, for obvious reasons. So. No panic."

Albus looked uncertain. "Severus, I know what you did. You separated your spirit from your body to form a soul-beast. It worked, yes. You destroyed the Dementors. But the cost may be too high. A soul-beast is a most dangerous and unpredictable magic. Few have ever managed to master it, and there have been stories, that some separated from and never rejoined their flesh. The danger is very real, and more so for you ..."

Severus raised an eyebrow warningly. "Oh? And why would that be?"

Albus swallowed. "Severus," he said gently, warily. "You ... have little to attach you to your body. I know, too well, that it has been little more than a tool, and rarely one you commanded. Your strength has always been focused in your mind and spirit, in your will and wit. I fear, for you, the temptation to abandon your 'damaged tool' and live as pure, safe spirit, may be too much to resist. If you spend too much time in your soul-beast form, I fear you may never return to us."

Severus stared, finally brought to disbelief himself. Had they so little faith in him, in his ability to control himself, in his dedication to the cause? Had everything he'd done and survived and managed so far warranted nothing but doubt? White fury eclipsed his reason, but before he could fly at them, Poppy decided to throw her spanner in.

"Stop this! You fools, they are _at the door_. They are here! We don't have time to argue this. Severus has offered a solution, and we haven't time to debate it. There is no way you'll argue him down, because when it comes to self-sacrificing acts of desperation, he's worse than any Gryffindor. And because of that, because there is danger, I will be coming with him." This was said with such calm finality that it took Severus a minute to realise what she'd said.

"No!" he commanded stridently. "You've never tried before. I won't risk you!" It was the wrong thing to say, he knew. Her chin firmed and a combative light appeared in her eyes. She wouldn't back down. "Besides," he added desperately, "someone must watch my body. I do intend to return, and it would be nice to find it in one piece." He braced for arguement, that they really didn't have time for.

"We will do that," Dobby said brightly. Everyone turned to him in surprise. At them. Somehow, another six elves had popped into existence around their cheery spokesperson. Dobby smiled cheerfully at Severus.

"We will guard you, Severus. We will watch over our prince."

"Prince? Dobby, the Halfblood Prince was ... a joke. A way to keep my sanity. I'm no prince." Strange. Dobby, for all he seemed slightly dim, wasn't usually so obtuse. But the grin on the tiny elf's face didn't fade.

"We will protect our prince, Severus. But you must do what you promised now. We will explain after. Work first, yes?"

Work first. The house elf edict. And with thirty odd Dementors attacking the castle, the most pointed thing said yet. Severus looked at Albus. The old man sighed, looking every one of his years, but he nodded. The Trio were already battle-ready. They'd grown tough, and powerful. At a guess, they'd be on the ground, dealing with the werewolves and troll. Finally, he looked to his wife. She glared back, braced and ready, and more than willing to chew his head off if he fought her now. And suddenly, he smiled.

"Okay. Work first. But we'll talk later, Dobby."

He lay down, folding gracefully onto the floor, ignoring the strange glances he recieved. The last time he'd done this, he'd been in the air, and it hadn't ended well. Better safe than sorry. Poppy slipped down beside him, her hand touching his. He turned his head to look at her, smiling at the strange intimacy. And he remembered the Patronus that had become his soul-beast, and the light of joining that had showed him hers. He closed his eyes, and knew she did the same. And he felt the memories flow, and the light build.

He opened different eyes, to a world filled with the ebbs and flows of aura that phoenix song showed, but here his own eyes saw. He felt light, and free, and powerful. He turned to see her, a beautiful silver owl, flowing silent and glorious beside him. He felt whole here, silent and free with his wife at his side.

And he felt them. The dark shadow of their presence clouded the landscape, spreading fear and despair that tugged at their spirit forms. He glanced at her, saw her own power rise to match his, and a thrill of exhileration flooded through him. He turned his raptor's gaze to his prey, to the abominations that dared threaten what was his, and with Poppy at his side he flew to meet them.

Well? I was hoping for more action this chapter, but I guess that'll have to wait for the next chapter, along with Dobby's secret. Next chapter will come faster than this one. I hope. R&R, if anyone's still reading. Thanks.


End file.
